


Keep Your Neighbours Close

by Steiner_99



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Complete, Daily Prophet, Draco Malfoy & Harry Potter Friendship, Drarry, Falling In Love, Fluff and Angst, Grimmauld Place, Happy Ending, Harry and Draco are Neighbours, Love, M/M, Male Slash, Muggle wedding, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Post-Hogwarts, Romance, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-05
Updated: 2018-08-02
Packaged: 2019-05-18 14:47:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 37,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14854796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Steiner_99/pseuds/Steiner_99
Summary: The war against Voldemort has finally ended, and Harry begins his adult life by moving into number 12 Grimmauld Place. However, Harry's new-found happiness is challenged, when he discovers that his next-door neighbour is none other than Draco Malfoy.





	1. Moving Day

Harry put down the last box with a heavy sigh. He straightened his back and looked over at Hermione, who was unwrapping a crooked lamp whilst chatting animatedly to Ron and Ginny. 

“I think that was it, everyone,” he said, wiping his sweaty forehead with the back of his hand. 

“Time for a cold Butterbeer, then,” Ron exclaimed, and immediately dropped the stack of books he had been holding with a loud clatter. " _Ron!_ ” Hermione shook her head, and levitated the now scattered books onto a nearby table, sorting them into a neat pile. 

Harry followed Ron into the kitchen, his heart fluttering slightly with excitement. This would be his first time alone in Grimmauld Place since he decided to move in just a few weeks ago, and he couldn’t wait to just lie down on his new couch, contemplating his future. 

Grimmauld Place was his. He’d known that ever since Dumbledore told him less than two years ago. He’d never giving it a prober thought before, though. There’d been so many sad memories connected to this house; so many guests or residents who no longer existed among the living. Sirius, Dumbledore, Snape… they’d been part of this house, one way or another. But the war was over, and so were any misgivings Harry had ever had regarding the house of his Godfather. 

He had been staying with the Weasleys ever since The Battle of Hogwarts. Mrs. Weasley had given Harry Bill’s old room, and told Harry that he was welcome to stay as long as he wished. The first few weeks, Harry had mostly stayed in his room, not wanting to see or talk to anyone. Ron had come by every evening, trying but failing to have a real conversation. Harry suspected that Ron hadn’t actually wanted to talk either, though. Everything had been so _muddled_ ever since the defeat of Voldemort. 

Harry knew the Weasleys were grieving. He himself had yet to comprehend the fact that Fred was never going to be sitting between his brothers at the dinner table again; never going to set anything exploding or teasing Harry about girls. Like so, so many others, Fred was gone. 

By the beginning of August, things at the Burrow had slightly started to go back to normal. Or at least as normal as it ever got at the Burrow. 

Harry had slowly started to appear at the breakfast table along with the rest of family. He had walked for hours around the garden with Ginny, occasionally trying to hold her hand, but letting go after only a few minutes. He didn’t know why, but something felt broken inside him when it came to Ginny. Perhaps it was grieve still overshadowing everything romantic in his life, but he wasn’t sure. 

By mid-September, he had finally broken the news at the dinner table, looking around at the faces he loved the most. 

He had taken a deep breath, cleared his throat and said: “So, I’m going to be leaving in a few weeks’ time”. 

Molly had lowered her fork, staring at him. 

“You’re… going?”, she had asked looking slightly puzzled. “Going where, Harry?”.

Harry had noticed Ron’s frozen expression. He hadn’t had the time to talk to Ron before breaking the news to everyone else. Harry cleared his throat. 

“Er, well, I was thinking about moving into Sirius’ house”, he had said. “I mean, it’s just sort of sitting there, isn’t it? I mean, I know it’s big and all, but I think I can manage... maybe Ron can come and visit when he’s in London? And of course, you’re all welcome to visit as much as you want,” he had gabbled. 

The whole table had looked at him strangely. Then Molly had leaned across the table and covered Harry’s hand with her own, her eyes looking very watery. “Of course we will, dear." And that had settled it. 

 

Harry opened his bottle of Butterbeer, and took a deep gulp. He smiled at Ron who was gulping down his own drink without a single pause. 

“It really wasn’t that many boxes”, Harry said mockingly. “You don’t have to look like you’re dying of exhaustion." Harry lowered his head a bit. "But still… thanks, mate, I appreciate you coming today, and… everything." 

Ron smirked and opened another Butterbeer. “Well, it’s not every day your best friend decides to become a house owner like a real adult, you know. ‘course, I had to be here." Ron craned his neck and looked out onto the dark street. “So, how’re the neighbours, then? Had a chance to spy on them yet?" 

Harry leaned against the kitchen counter, tapping his half-empty bottle thoughtfully. 

“No, not yet. Although I believe the family on the right to be Muggles. Think most of them are around here. In fact, I’m not sure anyone’s living in the house to the left. The light never seems to be on." 

Ron shrugged, and drained his second Butterbeer in one go. “Well, guess you’ll find out soon enough. Anyways, I think we’ll need to be off, I promised Hermione I’d have dinner with her and her parents tonight." He winked at Harry. “They love me!”

“I wouldn’t be so sure, Ron.” Hermione had entered the kitchen, and she was smiling wickedly at Ron. She went to stand beside him, and Ron quickly put an arm around her waist. Harry looked at the two of them and suddenly felt a pang of longing. He knew Ginny was still in the living room, sorting through Harry's stuff. But the thought of holding her like Ron was holding Hermione didn’t make his heart beat faster as it had done back in their sixth year. Perhaps it was just the thought of having _someone_. 

“Cheers to your new house, Harry”, Hermione said, raising her bottle. “I can’t wait to come over for some quiet reading when I get too fed up with my parents. And anyhow, they might soon adopt Ron instead of me. They really _do_ love him, Merlin knows why.” She looked at Ron. “Ready?”

*

Harry followed his friends out into the dimly lit front garden. He hugged Ron and Hermione. Then gave Ginny a quick peck on the cheek, which he immediately regretted. The three of them waved at him as they went out of the small gate and out on the street. 

Harry was just about to turn around and walk back inside the house, when Ron called out from behind him. 

“Guess you do have neighbours on each side after all!” 

Harry quickly looked to the house on the left. Light was shining from the top corner window. 

*

Harry slept peacefully through the night. When he woke up next morning, he slouched down to the kitchen where he made himself a cup of tea and some toast with marmalade. He ate his breakfast thinking about the day ahead. He needed to buy food, and then he should probably get down to some more unpacking. 

He took a quick shower, then headed outside, locking the door behind him. As out of impulse, he glanced up at the house next door. The curtains at the top corner were closed, but otherwise everything seemed quiet and deserted. Harry shrugged, and started to walk towards the shops. 

*

He was happy to find that the supermarket was only a few streets away. He therefore returned home just before noon. He spent a few hours going through his belongings and sorting them into different drawers and cupboards. As he worked, he appreciated the quiet solitude, and for the first time in many month, he fell content. Almost happy. 

By late afternoon he got bored, and went to watch something on the television. The Dursleys had never let Harry use the TV, and so he enjoyed going through channels at his own leisure, amusing himself with the various Muggle programs and local news. 

Harry was lying on the couch, drifting in and out of sleep, when the doorbell rang. 

He rose with a start, and moved to stand up, fixing his glassed back onto his nose. Then he walked into the hallway, pondering who might be at the door.  
Only a few, close people knew about this house, and he certainly hadn’t told The Daily Prophet about his location, or they would already have send several reporters to watch his every move, being, as he were, _The Saviour_. He shuddered when he thought about this new and horrible nick-name, which had covered every single Wizard newspaper and magazine since the end of the war. It was even worse than being called The Chosen One. 

He reached the front door, pulled down the handle, and… gasped. 

Standing outside the door, looking just as shocked as Harry felt, was Draco Malfoy.


	2. The Neighbour

_"Potter?"_

Malfoy was standing on the front step, gaping at him. 

Harry blinked. His mouth felt slack and useless, like it had lost it function completely. He couldn’t believe it. Of all people knocking on his door, Malfoy had been the very last person on his mind. 

“I… Malfoy? What… the _Hell_?” he finally stammered. 

For a split second, Malfoy looked like he was about to turn around and make a run for it. Instead he closed his eyes; opened them and took a deep breath. When he spoke, it sounded as if he was controlling every single muscle in his throat to make his voice sound neutral and level. However, Harry distinctly noticed a pink flush creeping up Malfoy’s neck. 

“My apologies, Potter, I was not aware that you actually live here. I'll... be off, then." 

He started to turn around, but Harry quickly grabbed Malfoy's arm to stop him getting away. 

“What the fuck, Malfoy, you can’t just… show up on my doorstep without any explanation and then just… walk away!” 

Malfoy shook his arm free of Harry’s grip, his face now scarlet. 

“I thought it was obvious that I didn’t _intend_ for you to be here, Potter”, Malfoy said through gritted teeth. “Usually the phrasing ‘not aware’ would ring a bell for most people." 

Harry could feel his own face heating up. How _dared_ Malfoy stand here on his doorstep insulting him? After everything that little… that stupid… that horrible… _shit_ had done!? 

“You know what Malfoy?” Harry spoke in a shaking voice. “I could hex you right here, right now. No one would care. You know better than anyone that you deserve a life in absolute misery. So really, you’re not even worth it. Now, please get the hell away from my house and my life!” 

Harry's voice echoed through the dark streets as they glared at each other.

Malfoy was looking very angry, like he was ready to punch Harry. 

Then the angry scowl turned into a smirk, and Malfoy raised a silver eyebrow. 

“You know, Potter, that might be a bit harder than you think”. 

Harry sighed impatiently. “And why is that?” 

“Well… seeing as we’re neighbours and all”. 

 

And then Malfoy turned around and walked out of Harry’s garden and into the house on the left.

*

“How’s this even possible?” Harry was pacing up and down the floor of Mr. Weasley’s office. It had gotten a lot bigger since his promotion last year, when Mr. Weasley had been made Head of Muggle Liaisons.

“I though Grimmauld Place was the only wizard house in that area. How come Malfoy’s staying in a Muggle neighbourhood, when he’s supposed to be a Malfoy Manor with his precious mother?” 

Harry sat down opposite Mr. Weasley, fuming with indignation. 

Mr. Weasley carefully opened a folder and took out an official looking piece of paper. 

“Well, I had a talk with one of my colleagues from the Administrative Registration Department. She informed me that Mr. Malfoy, Draco that is, purchased number 11 Grimmauld Place on the 2nd of September this year. This paper contains the details of Wizards residing at Grimmauld Place for the last 50 years, and it appears that the Black family in fact owned two houses, not just one. Number 12 and… number 11.” 

Mr. Weasley put down the paper and gave Harry a searching look from underneath the brim of his glasses.

“I assume Sirius never told you about number 11, then?” 

Harry put a hand through his already rumpled hair. He didn’t speak for a minute. 

“I don’t think Sirius knew”, he finally said, feeling his temper receding slightly. “How come he didn’t know, though?” Harry asked, frowning. 

Mr. Weasley contemplated this for a few seconds. Then he spoke carefully. “Perhaps – and I’m not at all certain – perhaps Mrs. Black wanted to be sure that at least some of the family property didn’t fall into the hands of, well… _non-pure-bloods_."

Harry felt anger rising inside him once more. He gritted his teeth. 

“Yeah, well, I’m sure you’re right. From what I remember about dear old Mrs. Black, she would certainly be the kind of person to do something like that.” 

The two of them sat in silence for a while. Then Harry let out a frustrated sound and kicked one of the legs on Mr. Weasley’s desk. 

“So… what? That means that I’m stuck with having Malfoy as my neighbour, doesn’t it? He’ll just be there, day and night, and always… just… around? It’s not fair!” The last part came out childish and whiney, but Harry was too angry to care. 

He’d been so happy with the prospect of living in Gimmauld Place. Now he felt every bit of his previous excitement leave him. 

Mr. Weasley only looked mildly reproving considering Harry’s outburst. He folded his hands over his chest and leaned back in his chair. 

“I do understand that your situation has changed somewhat, Harry. And I'm afraid that there's nothing we can do legally. Draco is quite entitled to number 11, as he has payed for everything in advance. Even if there was a document linking the house to you, it is too late. It belongs to Malfoy." 

He rubbed his brows and gave a small sigh. 

"This was definitely not what you had anticipated. What any of us had anticipated. However, there’re two things you must consider before giving up entirely. First; it is not at all sure that you and Draco will be seeing much of each other on a daily basis. You can stick to your life, and I’m sure he’ll stick to his’. Secondly, there’s one thing about you, Harry, that speaks highly in your favour. And that is your extraordinary ability to _forgive_.” 

Harry gave Mr. Weasley a sharp glare “What do you mean?” 

Mr. Weasley smiled warmly and leaned forward in his chair. 

“Why, I don’t know… perhaps you should consider trying to make... peace with Draco Malfoy? Who knows, the young man might be a better neighbour than you think...”

*

That evening Harry sat in his chair by the fire for a long time. He was thinking about what Mr. Weasley had said ealier.

It seemed like the worst plan in history, trying to be civil towards Malfoy. Furthermore, there was nothing forcing him to actually do it. Of course he didn’t have to talk to Malfoy at all, if that was what he wanted. 

However, there was a certain… curiosity forming inside Harry’s head. Some part of him wanted to know more about Malfoy’s situation. For starters; _why_ was Malfoy living on this street of all places? What had happened within the esteemed Malfoy-family, that had made Malfoy leave the luxury of the Manor? 

Harry was thinking about all these things, when there was a sharp tap on the window. 

He looked up and saw a large, light-grey barn owl sitting outside the window, a letter tied to its leg. 

Harry felt a pang of sadness, as he let in the owl and untied the letter. The owl reminded him of Hedwig, although it did not have the same snowy-white feathers as her. He stroke the bird once, which it seemed to like. Then he let it back out, watched it soaring away into the night, and sat down, unfolding his letter. 

His eyes immediately fell upon the name of the sender, and his breath seem to catch in his throat. 

The letter was from… _Dudley_? 

 

_Dear Harry_

_This letter might come as a surprise, as it is my first attempt at sending you anything, you know, your way._

_I didn’t know how to get a hold on an owl, but eventually I just stuck my head out the window and called “Oi, I need an owl”, and this one showed up. I know I’m not supposed to have your address, but mum finally gave in and gave it to me just last night. I guess she does still have contact to the wizarding world after all._

_The thing is, I’m engaged and am to be married on the 20th of April next year. My fiancée and I are both really young, we know that, but we don’t care. Mum and dad have finally come to terms with it, and now they’re really excited for us. Dad is even paying for most of the wedding._

_I know we haven’t spoken for a while, but you’re family and I’d really like you to be there. I also want you to meet my future wife, Elinor. I think you’d like her, she’s amazing. We met at a boxing match last year._

_Anyway, I’ve enclosed an invitation in this letter. Feel free to return your reply by owl. I actually think they’re really cool, owls._

_Hope to see you on the 20th of April._

_Best,_

_Dudley Dursley._

 

Harry sat back in the sofa, feeling quite overwhelmed. 

He unfolded the creamy white envelope, and looked at the invitation. It looked... real enough. There even was a small picture of Dudley and his fiancée at the top corner. Elinor looked normal enough. Tall, and really quite pretty. Dudley had not been kidding, then. _Way to go, Big D,_ Harry thought, reading the invitation over more carefully. Apparently, he could bring a guest to the wedding. Harry gave a small snort. _Fat chance_ , he thought. He couldn’t even manage to hold Ginny’s hand more than five seconds, let along bring her as a guest to his estranged cousin’s wedding. 

Harry considered for a moment, then he brought the invitation to the kitchen, and attached to the fridge, using a sticking charm. He would think about his answer later. For now, he would concentrate on other things. Like his house. 

The Dursleys could wait. 

He opened the fridge and grabbed a Butterbeer. Then he sat down at the kitchen table and thought about Malfoy again.

If Dudley could get over everything that had happened between the two of them during the last 18 years, then perhaps Harry _might_ consider trying to forgive Malfoy. 

He sipped his beer, and looked out the window. Lights were on at number 11. Malfoy was home. 

Harry drummed his fingers against the wooden counter. 

Then he stood up, and took a deep gulp of Butterbeer. He had made up his mind. He was going to talk to Malfoy. 

Feeling very mature and decisive, he went into the hallway; grabbed his jacked and opened the door. 

Malfoy was standing right outside, his hand raised, ready to knock, and holding a bottle of Ogden’s Old Firewhisky.

*

Malfoy lowered his hand and shuffled his feet nervously. He looked quite forlorn, standing there, looking completely out of place and probably wondering what the hell he had been thinking, showing up on Harry's doorstep two nights in a row.

“We have to stop meeting like this, Malfoy”, Harry said, supressing an amused smile, seeing Malfoy squirming like that. 

“So... what do you want?” 

Malfoy raised his chin defiantly. Then he held out the whisky. “I couldn't find an olive branch”, he said, looking Harry straight in the eye. 

Harry took the bottle feeling very awkward. The whisky looked old. Expensive. 

Then he threw the door open and stepped aside. 

“I guess you better come inside, then," he said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I already had the second chapter ready, and I'm currently writing chapter three. Not sure how many there'll be in total, but there's quite a story to tell, so I hope you'll all hang in :-)


	3. Whisky and Tapestries

Harry let Malfoy through the hallway and into the kitchen. 

He put the whisky down, and rummaged through one of the cupboards, emerging with two dusty glasses. He gave them a quick rinse, and poured himself and Malfoy a large serving of the expensive-looking whisky. 

Malfoy sat down on a barstool opposite Harry. As soon as Harry placed the drink in front of him, Malfoy snatched it and drained the whole thing, his eyes watering.

“Shouldn’t waste good whisky”, Harry commented amusedly. He was watching Malfoy with mounting curiosity. The other boy looked extremely uncomfortable. Harry lent over and poured some more whisky into Malfoy’s glass, thinking that he might need it. 

“Thanks”, Malfoy muttered, this time resorting to sip the whisky instead. 

“Well…” Harry faltered. He Had no idea what to do in this situation. 

Draco Malfoy was sitting in his kitchen, drinking whisky. Like some sort of friend or… something. 

Harry noticed that Malfoy looked tired. Hollow, almost. 

His cheeks were sunken, and his hair looked dull and flat. His robes, however, looked immaculate as ever, and his eyes were alert, flicking from Harry to his drink. 

“Perhaps you could start by telling me what you’re doing here, Malfoy. This is a Muggle area; in case you hadn’t noticed”. 

Malfoy wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He toyed with his glass as he spoke, not looking at Harry, but definitely sounding more collected than before, though still looking quite out of place. 

“I can’t stay at the Manor”, he said, almost offhandedly. 

Harry sipped his drink, his eyes fixed on Malfoy. The whisky tasted amazing. It was warm and spicy with an aftertaste of something sweet. Caramel, perhaps?

“Why?” Harry asked, licking his lips. “For what I remember, the Manor could easily house ten families let alone the Golden Son himself.” 

Malfoy seemed to mull this over, his finger circling the brim of the glass. 

“Not that it’s any of your business, but I… am not exactly welcome at my mother’s house at the moment.” 

“That’s not really an explanation, Malfoy”, Harry said impatiently. 

“I never said I owed you one, Potter”. Malfoy straightened up in his chair, looking around the kitchen. 

“It’s funny. I’ve never been inside this house before. My mother used to, though. When she was a child.” Draco smiled faintly. “That’s why I came by last night. I thought this house might still be empty, and I wanted a look around, you know. Out of curiosity” 

“If you’ve come to collect all the old family treasures, you can forget it,” Harry said. “We got rid of almost everything, when The Order used the house as headquarters.” 

Malfoy took a deep breath and drank some more whisky. “I don’t care about all that,” he said.

Harry leaned forward across the table and looked Malfoy straight in the eyes. “Cut the crap, Malfoy, I know you didn’t just come here to have friendly chat. Now, tell me what you’re really after?” 

Malfoy hesitated. Then rolled his eyes. 

“Oh, Alright, then. If you really must know, I came here because I wanted to… to see the tapestry.” 

Harry raised his eyebrows. This, he had not expected. 

“You mean the Black Family Tree? Why do you want to look at that?” He frowned at Malfoy. 

Malfoy looked embarrassed, and almost a little… sad.

“I don’t know… I guess I’ve just been thinking a lot lately. About family, and ancestry and… stuff. But it’s fine. I get it. I’m trespassing on your privacy. I’ll leave you to it. Sorry to disturb you and everything,” Malfoy gabbled, getting up from his chair, and turning to leave. 

“I guess you can have a look at it.” 

Malfoy stopped. He slowly turned back around, looking at Harry. 

“You’re sure?”

Harry looked at Malfoy thoughtfully. 

“Yeah, it’s fine. Follow me.”

*

The room was silent, as they both stood in front of the tapestry.

Harry was secretly watching Malfoy’s face, trying to decipher what was going on behind those grey eyes. 

Malfoy was standing very close to the tapestry, taking in everything, and looking deep in thought. 

He eyes seemed to be lingering on the dot where is own name was visible, just underneath the names of Nacissa and Lucius Malfoy. There was a blank spot underneath it, probably reserving space for the future Malfoy-generations to come. 

“Are you worried your kids won’t be having enough space among The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black?”, Harry said mockingly. 

Malfoy turned a dazed face towards Harry. 

“Excuse me?” 

Harry rolled his eyes. “I’m just saying, there’s probably enough room for a family the size of the Weasley’s”, he said. “No need to look so serious”. 

Malfoy’s eyes were suddenly ablaze with fury. 

“Keep your mouth _shut_ about things you know nothing about, Potter!” he spat, his fists shaking at his sides. 

Harry was completely taken aback by Malfoy’s abrupt change of behaviour. He blinked. Then he felt heat rising in his cheeks. 

He had welcomed Malfoy into his house, and now he was being yelled at?  
No. He was having nothing of that. 

“What is your Goddamn problem, Malfoy!?”, Harry said, angrily. “I thought I was being civil, but obviously, you haven’t changed. And now, I think you should leave.” 

Malfoy was standing motionless, staring at Harry with the most unreadable expression. 

For a second, Harry thought he saw a flicker of… something behind those steely grey eyes. Then it disappeared, only to be replaced with a most familiar sneer. 

“Why, Potter. I think we might finally have found something we can agree upon”. 

Then he turned on his heels and left, slamming the door behind him.

*

Harry spent the rest of the evening fuming about Malfoy. He tried reading for a bit, but he couldn’t seem to concentrate on the book he had picked.

Then tried wandering aimlessly around the massive house for a few hours, fixing things here and there, but not really setting himself the real task of actually, doing something. 

Now feeling extremely restless, he fire-called Neville, who was currently staying at Hogwarts, helping Professor Sprout with the rebuilding of the Hogwarts greenhouses as extra credit for the upcoming N.E.W.T.s, which were to be held the following year for everyone who hadn’t manage to pass their exams due to various reasons - The War being the main cause. 

Neville seemed happy to see Harry, but it happened that he was on his way out for night-duty.  
Apparently, Professor Sprout had recently obtained a new nocturnal plant, which could only be re-potted at full-moon. 

He did however agree to meet Harry for a cup of coffee at Diagon Alley the following weekend. 

“Mind if I bring Luna?”, Neville asked, pulling on some very large, green boots, as Harry watched him from the flames. Harry shook his head, which immediately caused small bits of ash to flutter into his ears. Harry was definitely not a big fan of fire-calls. 

“Sure”, Harry said, wondering what Luna had been up to lately. He hadn’t been in touch with many people, let alone the old members of Dumbledore’s Army. 

He said his farewells to Neville, and returned to the living room.

*

The next morning, he got up early, deciding he wanted to find the nearest baker for some freshly made scones.

As he opened the front door, a piece of paper fluttered out from underneath it, and landed on the steps. Harry bent down and picked it up. 

Someone seemed to have tried to push it under the door. 

He turned it over. 

The note was very short, and written in a neat and prober handwriting. 

_I sometimes lose my temper._  
_My apologies._  
_Sincerely,_  
_M._

Harry read it through at least three times. 

Then he turned his head to look at number 11, a small smile forming on his lips.


	4. Neville, Luna and Madam Malkin's

The next couple of days came and went without much happening besides Harry’s continuous unpacking and strolling around the neighbourhood, trying to memorize the shortest way to the different shops and services. 

Saturday morning, Harry had a light breakfast, then caught a bus to the centre of London, preferring the Muggle transport system instead of apparating. 

After a small chat with Tom the Barkeeper, Harry stepped into Diagon Alley, and walked for a few minutes, until he reached The Pointy Hat; a wizarding café situated directly across from Flourish & Blotts.

As he stepped inside, Harry immediately spotted Neville and Luna sitting at a corner table, speaking quietly to each other. Neville glanced up, his eyes catching Harry’s, and waved him over, grinning broadly. 

Harry sat down, smiling at his friends. They both looked good. Luna’s blond hair was braided with small, white flowers, and she was wearing a creamy white jumper as well as her usual radish earrings. Neville had lost a lot of weight during his summer working at the greenhouses. He looked slim, tanned and healthy. 

“Hi, Harry,” Luna said, looking at Harry dreamily. “You look very well today. Happy, I'd say.”

Harry smiled. It was so typically Luna to say things that this, and he suddenly realised how much he’d missed her. How much he’d missed _all_ of his friends. Locking himself away at the Weasley’s all summer probably hadn’t been the best way to deal with, well… everything. 

“I suppose I’m pretty happy, yes”, he said, pulling off his winter cloak and placing it over the back of his chair.

A waiter had arrived at their table, ready to take their orders. Neville ordered two large cappuccinos for himself and Luna as well as a hot chocolate for Harry. 

“So…” Harry said, as the waiter left to get their drinks, looking at Neville and Luna. “What’s been going on with you, guys? How was your summer?”

Neville waved a hand in a modest gesture. “Well, you already know everything about my internship with Professor Sprout. She’s agreed to tutor me until we start our N.E.W.T.s. next year. It’s been great!”, he said, happily. 

Harry looked at Luna. “What about you, Luna?” 

Luna was shredding a napkin, looking as serene and dreamy as ever. 

“Oh, I’m staying at Hogwarts too. I’ve been helping Hagrid with some of the magical creatures that got injured during the battle. There’re quite a lot of them, actually,” she said, as the waiter reappeared, carrying a tray of drinks.

Harry picked up his steamy cup of hot chocolate and sipped it carefully, savouring the sweet and bitter flavour. 

“So I guess the two of you have been hanging out a lot?”, he asked curiously. 

At once, Neville’s face turned very red, and Luna smiled secretly. She placed a hand on top of Neville’s. 

“Yes… I suppose we have”, she said. “We’ve been kissing a lot too, as well as, - “

“- Harry doesn’t want to hear about that!” Neville said loudly, his face flaming red. 

Harry grinned. He had expected something like this to happen sooner or later. It had been common knowledge among almost every Hogwarts student, that Neville had a massive crush on Luna. 

“That’s great, guys”, he said sincerely. “I’m happy that you finally pulled your arse together, Neville,” Harry said, winking at a spluttering Neville.

*

The three of them spent a few hours reminiscing about the good old Hogwarts days, and Harry told them all about his new life at Grimmauld Place.

“Oh, and guess what?” Harry said, leaning forward in his seat, his third order of hot chocolate clutched in his hands. “ _Malfoy_ apparently lives next door to me. Can you believe it!?”

He quickly filled them in on the unexpected visit from Malfoy, and how the former Slytherin had reacted, when Harry had teased him about the continuation of the Malfoy-name. 

Neville and Luna were both very quiet after Harry finished with his story. Harry noticed them give each other a knowing look, before turning back towards Harry, both looking serious. 

“We talked to him, you know”, said Luna. “Back at Hogwarts. It was sometime in August. We’d just arrived for the rebuilding, and... Malfoy was there. Apparently, he’d asked Professor Slughorn if he could help. He stayed for about two weeks, keeping mostly to himself, but working very hard every day. He was always the first one up in morning, and the last one to leave in the evening. I think he wanted to proof himself, somehow. Like he wanted us all to know that he either had, or wanted to, change…” Luna trailed off, looking at Neville for support. 

Neville hesitated. Then he spoke. 

“Well, it was quite odd, Harry. He was actually being very nice to us. Well, to everyone, really. We had been working on levitating debris and stuff from inside the Great Hall one day, and when we went to have break, Malfoy came over and sat down next to us. At first he didn’t say much, and it was weird having Malfoy just sitting there. But then he started talking to us, asking us friendly questions, such as if we were going to be taking our N.E.W.T.s and so on.” Neville chewed his lip and looked at Harry. “He seemed… preoccupied, though. Like there was something else going on that he couldn’t talk about, but wanted to”. 

“What made you believe that?”, Harry asked curiously. 

Neville shrugged. “Well... it’s just… he kept up this friendly façade where he was being really polite and nice to everyone. But there was just something about his eyes that didn’t feel right. They looked... empty. Like he was really, really unhappy, or something." 

“How do you know he wasn’t just playing you all along?”, Harry said through gritted teeth. “I wouldn’t be surprised if it was all just a an act. He probably just wants to make himself look good in front of the teachers and everyone, now that he barely escaped being convicted along with his father at the post-war trials. Don't forget that Malfoy is a master when it comes to being a manipulating, little prat!”

Neville frowned slightly. “I see where you’re coming from, Harry, and I completely understand why you would think that about Malfoy. It's not like he has ever given us a reason to think otherwise. But… I just don’t believe that he _was_ acting. I seriously think he was being sincere.” 

“But”, Harry said exasperatedly, “why is he being so weird and secretive about everything, then?”

“Perhaps it’s something really personal”, Luna said matter-of-factly. 

Harry scratched the stubble on his chin thoughtfully. What _was_ going on with Malfoy? Why was he suddenly trying to make friends and being helpful? And why had he looked so pale and ill back at Harry's house? Was he… could he perhaps be _sick_? Could it be that Malfoy wasn’t sure, he would live long enough to make sure that he’d pass on his name to future generations? 

Harry suddenly felt a rush of cold wash over him. He didn’t want Malfoy to die. 

Sure, the Slytherin had been a constant pain to Harry all through Hogwarts, but… that night in the Astronomy Tower; that horrible night when Dumbledore had died, Malfoy had lowered his wand. And that was something which Harry would never forget. And something which made a difference. 

Harry shook his head to clear it. He suddenly felt quite stupid stressing over things that he really _didn't_ know anything about. Malfoy probably wasn’t sick at all. If he was sick, he would definitely not be staying in a house in a Muggle area all by himself, Harry thought. He was worrying over nothing. 

“Anyway,” Harry said, smiling at his friends. “Let’s talk about something else, shall we?”

*

Harry, Neville and Luna ended up spending most of the day together, drinking what seemed like buckets of coffee and hot chocolate.

They ended their afternoon eating roasted chestnuts at a small stand down Diagon Alley. Then Neville and Luna hugged Harry in turn, and apparated back to Hogsmeade. 

Harry wasn’t ready to head back home just yet, and so he went for a small stroll down the busy wizarding street, occasionally stopping to have a look inside the various shops. 

He was passing Madam Malkin’s Robes for All Occations; not really looking, but his eyes flickering carelessly over the shop window, when he stopped dead in his tracks. 

He took a few steps back and stared through the bright-lit window. 

Malfoy was standing inside, chatting animatedly to an elderly man, and… _Harry couldn’t believe it_ , appeared to be wearing a work uniform. 

Harry stood motionless for a few seconds, trying to get over the shock of seeing Malfoy of all people, doing something as plebeian as working. 

Being unable to control his curiosity any longer, Harry opened the door and stepped inside the shop. 

Malfoy was busy writing down measures in a small notebook, and therefore didn’t look up when the doorbell rang. 

“Just one second”, Malfoy said, putting his quill away and closing the notebook he’d been writing in. Then he lifted his face, and his eyes fell on Harry, who was standing next to the door, feeling suddenly very awkward. 

The smile which Malfoy had been wearing merely seconds ago, vanished in an instant. His grey eyes turned to slits, and a pink flush was creeping up his face. 

“Potter.” There was a slight tremble to Malfoy’s voice. The two of them stared at each other; Malfoy completely forgetting about his other customer, who was looking rather bewildered, his arms still outstretched, a measuring tape draped around one of his wrist. 

“You… you _work_ here Malfoy?” Harry asked incredulously. 

Malfoy was still staring at him, his grey eyes burning into Harry's. 

“Obviously”, Malfoy said, not breaking eye contact. 

Harry shuffled his feet nervously. He hadn’t thought this through, and now Malfoy was standing there, looking at him expectantly. 

“I… I saw you outside, and I thought… well I need new robes!”, Harry blurted. 

Malfoy looked Harry up and down, a small smirk playing on his lips.  
“Yes you do”, he said simply. “Give me two minutes, I just need to finish with Mr. Dalton here.” 

Harry went to sit in a small chair next to the fitting rooms, feeling extremely stupid. He didn’t know _what_ had possessed him to ask for new robes, knowing that it would be Malfoy fitting him, seeing that he was apparently alone at work. The thought seemed very… intimate, somehow. 

Harry could hear Malfoy telling the customer that he would have his robes ready by the end of next week, then thanked him for coming. The doorbell clinked, and the shop went quiet. 

Malfoy reappeared in front of Harry, his manner now brisk and business-like. 

“So, Potter. What are you after? Everyday robes, dress robes? We can do all sorts at Madam Malkin’s.” He pulled out the measuring tape and notebook. 

Harry gulped. 

“W-where’s Madam Malkins?" he asked, lamely. 

Malfoy rolled his eyes and pulled Harry to his feet, making him stand very straight with his arms outstretched, just as Mr. Dalton had been standing minutes ago. 

“Mrs. Malkin is taking the weekend off. She’s not as young as she used to, and she needed help,” Malfoy said, stretching out the measuring tape along Harry’s arm. 

Harry tried to ignore the fact that they were standing very, very close, Malfoy's silver blond hair tickling Harry’s ear, as he fitted the measuring tape against Harry’s shoulders.

“But… why are _you_ working here?”, Harry persisted. “I didn’t think Malfoy’s actually had to earn a living. Don’t you have like, a million Galleons in your vault?” 

Malfoy tilted his head and gave Harry a small smile, but didn’t answer. He was still standing way too close for Harry’s comfort.

“Spread your legs”, Malfoy ordered suddenly. 

Harry felt his entire body go rigid. “E-excuse?” he stammered. 

Malfoy rolled his eyes again, and got down on one knee in front of Harry, which only made Harry nearly faint. 

“Relax, Potter, I’m not going to feel you up, or anything. I’m only taking your measures, for Merlin’s sake!”

Harry, now blushing furiously, looked anywhere but at Malfoy, as he felt his former arch-enemy hold the tape measure against his inner thigh. 

Finally, after what seemed like hours to Harry, Malfoy got to his feet, and rolled up the tape measure. 

Harry let out a small sigh of relief, and secretly wiped his forehead. The robe shop suddenly seemed impossibly warm and stuffy. 

“So, you didn’t actually tell me what sort of robes you’re after, Potter, but considering the shape of the clothes you’re already wearing, I’d recommend at least three new everyday-robes as well as one new pair of dress-robes, perhaps dark blue or even ultramarine. How does that sound?” Malfoy was looking at him expectantly, ready to write down the order. 

Harry ignored the casual insult, and nodded absentmindedly. His brain was still processing everything that had happened since he had entered the robe shop. 

“Great. You can pick up the clothes next weekend, if you want, or we can deliver them to you. Whatever you prefer,” Malfoy said, scribbling away in his notebook. 

“What… happened to you, Malfoy? Harry asked quietly. 

Malfoy’s head snapped up, and he stared at Harry, eyes open wide. “I thought I told you it wasn’t any of your business, Potter," Malfoy said tonelessly. 

Harry hesitated a moment before speaking. “I talked to Neville and Luna. They told me you were at Hogwarts this summer. So... I guess this job is not your first experience with hard labour, then?” 

Malfoy lowered the notebook. Then he rubbed his forehead and gave a deep sigh. 

“Alright”, he said despairingly. “Come over for dinner tomorrow at eight, and I might tell you… some things.” 

Harry froze. Dinner at Malfoy’s didn’t particularly seem like a good idea. However, in this case curiosity was beating logic by a mile, and so he nodded. 

“I’ll be there”, he said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I managed to make this one a bit longer. I'm feeling extremely excited about this story, and so I think I'll be able to post regularly, however, I can't promise that it will be as frequent as it has been until now. 
> 
> Oh, and feel free to leave a comment, if you wish. It would be great motivation, whether you like where this story is going or not.


	5. Dinner at Draco's

Harry had trouble sleeping that night, and he spent most of the next day feeling restless and jittery. 

He went for a long walk that afternoon before heading home to take a shower. His hair still damp, he rummaged around his closet, trying to decide on what to wear. 

Malfoy had been right; he really didn’t have any decent clothes. Most of his robes were outworn and slightly too small. Harry had seen his last growth spurt during the last couple of months, and hadn’t realised that he’d outgrown almost everything he owned until now.

Standing in front of the mirror, trying but failing to flatten his hair, he suddenly realised he shouldn’t be caring at all about what to wear in front of Malfoy. It wasn’t like the dinner _meant_ anything after all. Shaking his head at his own stupidity, he finally settled on a pair of black Muggle jeans and a plain, grey t-shirt, which Hermione had bought him as part of their Muggle-disguise in their search for Horcruxes. He looked critically at himself in the mirror. It would have to do. 

Harry looked at the clock. Almost eight. 

Feeling that he should probably bring something now that Malfoy had brought him the whisky, he looked through one the unpacked boxes and withdrew a large box of chocolate frogs. There was a small note attached to it, and he quickly read it before tearing if off and throwing it into the fireplace. 

He must have had received at least a hundred owls while staying at the Weasleys; delivering to him gift-wrapped boxes of chocolate, love letters and small presents.  
Ron and George had been thrilled whenever an owl arrived with another parcel, making sure to grab all the sweets before Harry even had the chance to look it through, but also knowing that Harry didn’t care when they did. 

The notes attached to the parcels were always the same too. Most of the time, it would be people thanking him for getting rid of Voldemort and bringing peace to the Wizarding world. However, many of the parcels were from witches, who wanted Harry to go out with them. The letter, now burning in the fireplace, hadn’t been any different. It had been from a very mature witch somewhere in Wales, who had wanted to know if Harry was still seeing ‘that small, freckly wench’, and asked if Harry would be her date at her brother’s wedding. Harry never replied to those kinds of messages.

Securing the box of chocolate frogs underneath his arm, he opened the door and walked down the steps of his building. It was a brisk October night, and Harry was happy he didn’t have to far. He walked through the gate of number 11, and went up to stand just outside Malfoy’s door. Then he rang the bell. 

Standing there on Malfoy’s front step, Harry suddenly felt nervous. The robe-fitting was still fresh in Harry’s memories, and for some reason, the image of Malfoy, on his knees in front of Harry, kept popping into his head. 

He was starting to feel cold, when Malfoy finally opened the door, dressed casually in dark trousers and a white t-shirt.

“Took you long enough,” Harry said, his teeth clattering. Malfoy smiled. Then stepped aside to let Harry through. 

“My apologies, Potter, I had trouble in the kitchen”. 

Harry entered the small hallway and shook off his travelling cloak. Malfoy took it, and hung it on a coat hook attached to the wall. 

“Oh, er… this is for you,” Harry said, handing Malfoy the chocolate frogs. 

Malfoy looked at it, his eyebrows raised. 

“My, Potter, how romantic of you”. 

Harry, who had been studying at a small portrait of Narcissa placed on a shelf in the narrow hallway, didn’t register Malfoy’s taunt. 

“No problem… wait, what!?”

He snapped his head around to look at Malfoy. He was smirking, shaking his head. “Nothing, Potter. Come on, I’ll fix you a drink”. 

Harry followed Malfoy through the living room and into the kitchen. Harry couldn’t help but notice that the floor plan of Malfoy’s house was almost identical to his own. However, the overall look was very different. 

Harry was surprised to see that Malfoy had a simple taste. The rooms were lightly and stylish decorated with white walls and wooden floors. There was no heavy furniture or curtains, contrary to Grimmauld Place 12, which still bore evidence of having belonged to a very old-fashioned pure-blood family.

Harry had to admit that he really liked Malfoy’s house. It felt friendly. Cosy, even.

“Nice house,” Harry said, gesturing at the room at large. 

Malfoy had gotten out a bottle of wine, and was pouring it into two glasses. 

“Well, having good taste doesn’t come natural to most people, but being a Malfoy and everything, I have to maintain certain standards,” he said. 

Harry accepted the drink Malfoy was offering and took a sip. 

“I had no idea this house belonged to the Black-family,” Harry said. 

Malfoy shrugged. “I didn’t either. At least, not until I found the deed hidden in my mother’s drawer.” 

Harry stared at Malfoy, aghast. “You mean, you stole this house from your mother?” 

Malfoy rolled his eyes. “It’s not as simple as that, Potter.” He sipped his wine, and gestured towards the dinner table. It had been neatly set with folded, grey napkins. “Please, sit down”. 

Harry felt slightly uncomfortable, seeing how much effort Malfoy seemed to have put into this dinner. It was almost like he had invited to… a date, or something. _A date!? Where the hell did that come from!?_

He sat down at the table with his wine, cursing himself mentally. Malfoy had turned his back to Harry, busy with something at the stow. Harry felt his stomach give a small rumble and realised that he was starving. He wondered what Malfoy would be serving. 

Malfoy returned to the table carrying two bowls of steaming hot soup. 

“I thought we should start with a small appetizer. I’ve always liked a simple tomato soup, if it's made from scratch. I can’t _believe_ that some wizards – and Muggles – would even _think_ about buying it canned,” Malfoy sniffed loftily. 

Harry secretly thought about the five canned soups tucked away in his kitchen cupboard, and didn’t reply. Instead he took a spoonful of Malfoy’s homemade version. It was delicious – spicy and creamy. 

“I didn’t know you could cook?” Harry said, looking at Malfoy interestedly.

“There are many things, you don’t know about me, Potter”, Malfoy said. Harry noticed that he hadn’t yet touched his own soup. 

Harry put down his spoon and looked at Malfoy honestly. “Look, Malfoy, I know we haven’t ever really seen eye to eye. There’re so many years of enmity between us, and I understand if you don’t exactly trust me. Hell, I don’t know if I can still trust _you_. But… Voldemort is dead. He made both our lives a living hell. Now that he’s gone, I want to move past that. I want us to start over. To try and be…well, friends.” 

Malfoy looked at him, frowning slightly, his head tilted to one side. 

“Call me Draco”. 

Harry almost choked on his soup.

“Sorry, what?” 

“I’d like you to call me Draco. If we’re going to be… _friends_ , it seems unnecessarily formal calling each other by our surnames, don’t you think?” 

Harry thought about it for a moment. _Draco_ … and he found, that he didn’t mind at all. 

“Sure”, he shrugged. “Alright.”

“Well, _Harry_ ,” Draco said. “Ready for the second course?”

*

Ten minutes later, Harry was on his third glass of wine and starting to feel a tiny bit tipsy, when Draco put a plate down in front of him. Harry’s mouth watered instantly. The plate was loaded with roasted lamb, mint-sauce and baked beetroots. It smelled wonderful.

“Seriously, Malfo- I mean, Draco,” Harry said. “How did you learn to cook like that?” 

Draco sat down in his seat and poured some more wine into their glasses. 

“Alright, Harry. Apparently, you won't stop pestering me until you know all of my secrets, so I guess we might as well start with my cooking skills. The truth is… I _read_. I find recipes, and I follow them carefully. It’s really not that hard.” 

Harry looked down at his immaculate plate of food. “But this lamb is, like, perfectly tempered?” he said lamely.

“Yes, well, if you really must know, I’ve always been fascinated with the art of cooking. The house elves at Malfoy Manor were quite adapt.” 

Harry put down his fork, gaping at Draco. 

“Wait a minute… are you telling me that _Dobby_ taught you how to cook?” 

“ _Told_ , not taught. There’s a difference,” Draco said pointedly. 

Harry shook his head incredulously. 

“You are full of surprises, Draco”. 

Draco only smiled and speared a piece of lamb with his fork. Harry guessed he’d finally found his appetite.

*

They finished their plates, talking quietly about nothing in particular, but keeping conversation flowing smoothly, nonetheless. Then Draco cleared the table and started to make coffee.

Harry was watching him work from his chair, feeling oddly sentimental. Perhaps it was just the wine talking, but Harry was actually starting to enjoy his evening with Draco. The food had been excellent, and the former Slytherin had turned out to be great company. 

Draco served the coffee with a place of biscuits. Homemade, of course. 

“Are you going to tell me why you got the house?” Harry asked, eating a biscuit. 

Draco was playing with his napkin, not looking at Harry. 

“Yes, I guess I will,” he said, straightening up a bit. 

“Like I already told you, I bought the house because I couldn’t stay at the Manor any longer. This house has belonged to my mother ever since her aunt Walburga Black died.” 

“You mean Sirius’ mother?” Harry interrupted. 

“I suppose”, said Draco, running a hand through his hair. “Well, I didn’t know her, but apparently she was very fond of my mother. Probably because she chose to marry a pure-blood compared to Andromeda Tonks, who married a Muggle.” 

Harry felt his heart constrict, thinking about Tonks. He looked at Draco, who was still concentrating on the napkin. “Go on”, he said encouragingly. 

“Well, the house was obviously a secret, as my mother had promised not to let it pass to anyone else in the family. It’s been empty for years because of that. When I… had a fallout with my parents this summer, I looked through my mother’s things, sure that I would find something of value that would allow me to buy my own place. And lo and behold, I actually found a house instead.” Draco gave Harry a small smile. 

“The thing is… my parents wanted me to get married this Fall. To some Belgian witch from a well-respected pure-blood family. I refused.” 

Harry stared at Draco, completely lost for words. 

“They… they were going to _force_ you to marry her?” Harry finally croaked. 

“Oh, don’t give me that noble bullshit, it’s not that uncommon, it happens in old families all the time,” Draco said irritably, crumbling up his napkin. 

“I just… think it’s horrible”, Harry mumbled. 

“Yes, well, so did I. like I said, I refused to do it, and my parents got furious with me. My father sent me a howler from Azkaban and my mother didn’t speak to me for two weeks.” 

“But, “Harry said, moving closer. “It sounds quite extreme kicking you out because of that?” 

Draco’s eyes snapped up to lock with Harry’s. They looked very dark in the dimly lit room. 

“They didn’t. My father swore that he would make me do it, or he would find some other pure-blood girl and make me marry _her_ instead. In the end, I didn’t have any other choice but to tell them the truth; that I’m not – and will never be – marrying any woman.”

Harry looked at Draco, confused. 

“Why won’t you ever marry?”, Harry said, raising his cup to his lips, “I mean, it’s not like there aren’t any other girls out there who’d - “ 

“Because I’m gay, Harry.” 

Harry really did choke on his coffee this time. He coughed violently, feeling his eyes watering. It took him a moment to come round, and when he did, he noticed that Draco was watching him amusedly. 

“No need to look so scandalized,” Draco said. “It’s not like I’m the only one out there. They say at least one out of an entire class, don’t they?” 

Harry didn’t exactly know what Draco meant by that. He gulped down some water, his eyes still running. 

“Sorry,” he gasped. “It’s just… I had no idea.” 

Draco rolled his eyes. “You can be really naïve when you want to, Potter. Anyways, my parents didn’t exactly approve. So, I went to see a guy that I know, and he helped me fake some papers to make it look like I’d bought this house from my parents, when I basically just nicked it.” Draco looked quite proud of himself as he told Harry this. 

Harry could feel himself go red. “This guy that you know, is he…?” Harry faltered 

“No, he’s not my lover, he’s just a criminal”, Draco said, frowning at Harry. “Honestly, like I’ve had time for romance. So, there you have it; the reason why we’re neighbours, and why I’m working at Madam Malkin’s.”

Harry nodded slowly. 

“Thanks for telling me. I know you didn’t have to.” 

Draco gave Harry a piercing stare. “I wanted to”. 

They looked at each other for a moment, the fire crackling merrily behind them. 

Harry felt very warm. He had about a million other questions that he wanted to ask Draco, but for some reason, he had no idea how to phrase them. 

Draco got up from his chair. “D'you want more coffee?” 

Harry got up too, brushing crumbs from his pants. “No, I’d better get back home, I promised Mrs. Weasley that I’d come by the Burrow for lunch tomorrow.” 

Draco walked Harry to the door and handed him his cloak. Harry put it on and looked round at Draco. “Thanks for dinner and everything, it was great!”

Draco had his hands in his pockets. He was leaning casually against the doorframe, smiling. 

Harry decided that he really liked the way Draco smiled. He hadn’t seen much of it during their time at Hogwarts. It had mostly been hiding behind scowls, smirks or scathing laughs. 

He smiled back. Then he suddenly thought of something, he had meant to ask Draco earlier. 

“Hey, where did you buy all that food?” 

Draco looked at him quizzically. “Diagon Alley, of course. Why?” 

Harry smiled broadly. 

“Want to come with me to the Muggle shop tomorrow?” 

Draco raised an eyebrow. “A Muggle shop? Really?” 

“I think you’d be surprised, being such a food expert and everything. Tomorrow, five o’clock?”

Draco smiled. Then nodded.


	6. Shopping, tea and television

Draco was already waiting outside the gate of his house, when Harry came out to meet him the next day. 

He had only just returned from the Weasleys; his stomach still full after eating too many homemade pies and cakes.  
Hermione had been at the lunch too, which had been a lovely surprise. He’d missed his two best friends, and it had been great catching up. He hadn’t told them anything about Draco, though. He had a feeling, he would have a lot of explanation to do on that part, and he wasn’t sure he would be able to provide a decent one. He didn't really know what was going on between himself and Draco after all. 

 

He greeted Draco with a small wave, and went to stand in front him. 

Draco was wearing a grey, woolly coat, which, Harry noticed, would blend in nicely with Muggle winter wear. 

“So… are you ready to go look at Muggle-stuff?” 

Draco scratched his head, then shrugged. “Sure. Not like I had anything better to do anyways.”

They started off down the street together, hands in their pockets and scarfs wrapped tightly around their necks. 

“How was work?” Harry asked, glancing sideways at Draco. 

“Not bad,” Draco replied, squinting against the cold wind. “Mrs. Malkin was back at work today, so she took care of all the customers. I helped sort out some new fabrics and stuff.” 

“How did you get that job, anyway? Last time I saw you at Madam Malkin’s, you were being really rude towards her, slapping her hand away when she tried to help you,” Harry said. 

“Last time you saw me at Madam Malkin’s, I had my hand on your thigh,” Malfoy said, smirking. 

Harry stopped walking, his face burning. “That’s… that’s _not_ what I was referring to, and I thought you said you _weren't_ feeling me up?” He spluttered. 

Draco had stopped too. Now, he turned around and laughed at Harry, shaking his head. “I was _joking!_ Seriously, Potter, you need to relax. Or get a shag – really, whatever helps your prudish mind.” 

Harry felt is face go even redder. “I am NOT prudish!” He yelled. 

Draco tilted his head to the side, smiling. “Whatever you say, Harry. And if you must know, I went back and apologised to Mrs. Malkin's ages ago. She was being really great about the whole thing." He gestured towards the street. "Now, are we going or what?”

*

They reached Tesco in less than ten minutes, and Harry turned to look smugly at Draco, as he went through the sliding doors.

“Told you it was closer than Diagon Alley,” he said. 

Draco followed him through the entrance. Harry went to get a basket. 

“Right. I don’t know about you, but I need most of the basics. You know, eggs, flour, sugar etc.” Harry said, leading Draco to one of the many aisles; this one containing shelf after shelf of different baking ingredients. 

Draco hadn’t spoken since entering the supermarket. Harry looked at him, concerned. 

“Are you alright? Don’t you need to buy anything?” 

Draco was staring at the aisles, looking completely overwhelmed. “It’s just so… big,” he said, weakly. “I mean, at Diagon Alley you have to buy everything from different places, you know, cheese from the cheese shop, tea from the tea shop and meat from the butcher. The Muggles… they’ve put it all in one place.”

Harry grinned, and placed a bag of flour in his basket. “Yes, well, it used to be that way for Muggles too, but they’ve sort of streamlined shopping during the last 30 years. It’s quite easy to get what you want, though.”

“If only it was always that easy, getting was you want,” Draco said quietly, giving Harry a strange look.

Harry glanced at Draco, puzzled. Then he shrugged. “Let’s go and have a look at the tea-section”. 

Draco’s mood brightened noticeably, when they reached the tea-aisle. It just so happened that Draco had a bit of an obsession with teas. Especially the fancy ones. He was pulling down several boxes, exclaiming loudly over them and stuffing them into Harry’s basket, which was filling up rapidly. 

Harry finally managed to drag Draco away from the aisle, and they went to get some fruits and vegetables. 

After what seemed like hours, they went to the checkout, now carrying three completely stuffed baskets. 

The cashier looked at them, her eyebrows raised, as Harry loaded everything on the conveyor belt. Draco was standing a few feet away, staring amusedly at something he was holding. 

“You’ll want to put whatever that is on the conveyer belt,” Harry said distractedly, trying to find some Muggle money hidden in his back pocket. 

Draco smirked. Then casually placed a large box of Durex on top of everything else. Harry looked at it once, then did a double take. He stared from the box to Draco, his face suddenly very warm. 

“Are those…? “Harry gestured awkwardly at the box; aware that the cashier was looking at the two of them curiously. 

“Condoms? Why, yes they are, Harry,” Draco said, innocently. 

“But”, Harry hissed under his breath. “Why are you buying condoms? Isn’t there some spell that… that, you know?” 

“There _is_ ,” Draco said, obviously enjoying himself immensely, “however, I heard about these rubber things, and I thought they would be fun. They might even come in handy at some point…” 

He looked at Harry sharply. “Hold on, what do you mean when you say ‘isn’t there a spell´? Are you telling me that you’ve never…? “ 

Harry’s was sure his face would be scarlet by now. 

“That’s just… I don’t know what… oh, be _quiet_ ,” Harry spluttered, finally managing to hand over some money to the cashier.

“So, The Saviour is still a virgin, then,” Draco mused, as he helped filling up the shopping bags. “I would never have believed that - not when you think about all those witches who would be ready to jump your bones by the first opportunity they got.” 

“You know, most of them are really old,” Harry said, still flushing furiously. 

They made their way to the exit.

“Maybe that’s not such a bad idea, though,” Draco said, smirking at Harry. “Then they’ve got loads of experience and everything.” 

Harry rolled his eyes as they walked, feeling that this conversation was getting out of hand.

Draco, apparently, wasn’t giving up that easy. 

“What about that Weasley-girl, then? Weren’t you going out with her at some point?”

“I did,” Harry said. “But that was ages ago, and now… I don’t know.” 

“You don’t _know_ if you’re still dating her?” Draco said, incredulously.

They had reached the gate of number 12 Grimmauld Place, and Harry walked through it, Draco close at his heels. 

“I… we haven’t really talked about it”, Harry said dismissively. 

“Merlin, Potter, you really need to get your facts straight. Either you’re with her, or you’re not.” 

Harry opened the door and let Draco through. They went straight to the kitchen and put down the bags. 

Harry could feel Draco watching him, but didn’t look up. Instead he started to unpack the bags, making sure to divide the groceries into two piles; his and Draco’s. Draco’s was by far the largest. 

“To be honest,” Harry finally spoke, “we never talked about getting back together after the Battle. I guess it was sort of implied that we should, but… I don’t know. So many things have changed, including my feelings for her. Don’t get me wrong, she’s great and everything. But…” he trailed off. 

“That’s a lot of ‘buts’”, said Draco. 

Harry shrugged. “I suppose…” 

He had finished sorting their stuff, and was now bringing a few boxes of tea to one of the cupboards. “Do you want a cup of tea?” he asked Draco. 

“Sure, thanks.” Draco was standing in front of the fridge, looking at the wedding invitation from Dudley. 

“Dudley Dursley… isn’t that one of you Muggle-relatives?” 

Harry put on the kettle and turned back around. He had forgotten all about the wedding. Well, with everything else going on. 

“Er, yes, that’s my cousin Dudley,” he said. 

Draco unstuck the invitation with his wand and turned it over.

“That’s one big bloke,” he said, eyes widening at the sight of Dudley. 

“He is,” Harry agreed. Used to beat me up a lot when we were kids. He must have been thrice as big as me back then.” 

Draco looked at Harry sharply. “Is it true they treated you like shit?” 

Harry shrugged. He crossed his arms and leaned against the counter. 

“It was all right, I guess.”

Draco raised an eyebrow. “Liar.” 

Harry smiled. “All right, they were horrible. However, it turned out that Dudley wasn’t so bad after all. Apparently, he was really grateful that I saved him from the Dementors three years ago.” 

“So, are you going?” Draco said, gesturing at the invitation. 

Harry hesitated. Then spoke.

“I’m still not sure. I mean, I’d like to think that the Dursleys have all changed, but I don’t believe my aunt and uncle would be very happy if I showed up.” 

“Well, they’re not inviting you,” Draco said. “Dudley is”. 

“I’ll think about it,” Harry said. 

“Who are you taking, if you decide to go? It says here you can bring a date.” 

Harry mulled this over. “I honestly don’t know. I don’t think I’ll ask Ginny, or she’ll just get the wrong idea.”

Draco stuck the invitation back onto the fridge, then turned around and looked at Harry.  
“We should work on finding you a date. Maybe she can sort out your… issue too.” 

“Being a virgin in not exactly an issue,” Harry said, sulkily. 

“Of course, only a virgin would say that,” Draco said, smirking. 

Harry glanced at the box of condoms sitting on the kitchen table. He suddenly wondered how many people Draco had slept with. Had they all been Hogwarts students? Was it anyone he knew?

“What about _your_ love life, Draco?”, Harry asked. “You haven’t told me who you… well.” 

“You wish to know all the dirt? Sorry to disappoint you, but it’s not a very interesting tale.” Draco said, running a hand through his hair. “I’ve only slept with one guy, and he was in my year, so we managed to keep it secret. Theodore Nott.” 

“Nott? Really?” Harry grimaced. 

“It was just sex, Harry,” Draco said, rolling his eyes. “I didn’t particularly _like_ him, but he was available, you know. Being who I am, my options were never that great.” 

“Who _did_ you like, then?” Harry asked, interestedly. 

Draco paused. He looked at Harry closely, his grey eyes slightly narrowed as if he was struggling with something. 

“There was always this one guy,” Draco said. “But it’s never going to happen, so it doesn’t really matter.” 

“So, you still like this guy?” Harry said, looking at Draco.

“I do.” Draco’s voice was barely a whisper. 

“Who is he?” Harry asked. He was feeling quite breathless, for some reason. 

Draco was just about to open his mouth to speak, when the kettle whistled loudly. They both jumped. 

“Tea’s ready!” Harry said.

*

They carried their mugs into the living room, and settled themselves in Harry’s sofa.

Harry sneaked at glance at Draco. The other boy looked deep in thought. 

Harry was still curious about Draco’s secret crush, but didn’t want to chase the subject further. 

“Mind if I turn on the television?” Harry said. “I like to watch the news.” 

Draco looked at him, frowning. “What’s a ‘television’?” 

Harry pointed at the large television and grabbed the remote. 

“Just wait and watch.” Then he turned it on. 

“Merlin’s beard!” Draco jumped, as the image appeared on the screen. 

A reporter was standing somewhere in London, apparently waiting for the Muggle Prime Minister to exit an important meeting. 

“Is that some kind of magic box?” Draco was staring from the television to Harry, eyes wide. 

“Seriously, Draco?” Harry snorted. “That’s such a cliché thing to say, even for a narrow-minded git like you. But I guess at some level, you’re not completely wrong. See, the television is transmitting either live or recorded images. It’s sort of like wizarding photos, which always move. These are just recordings of people doing stuff. Some of it is real-life and some of it, like films and television-shows, is fiction. It’s actually a lot of fun.” 

He flicked the channel. “There’s a film about to start. This one is called ‘The Shining’, but there are thousands of them”. 

Draco was sitting at the end of his seat, watching the screen, amazed. 

“We should watch it. This film, I mean.” 

“Sure”. Harry put down the remote, leaned back on the sofa with his tea and started to watch.

*

“This was a bad idea, Harry. A very, very bad idea.”

Draco flinched, as the small boy stopped in front a pair of creepy-looking twins 

“Why the hell are Muggles such psychopaths? Who comes up with something like this?” 

Harry didn’t reply. His head had started to droop, and he struggled to keep his eyes open.

“Harry? Are you _sleeping?_ How can you sleep through this? You need to get a job, Potter, you’re getting way to lazy.” 

“Shut up, will you?” Harry yawned. He moved to sit upright on the sofa next to Draco; forcing himself to stay awake. 

“I really like this television-thing,” Draco said, not taking his eyes off the screen. “Can I come and watch stuff on yours sometimes?” 

Harry glanced at Draco, smiling. “Sure you can, no problem.” 

On the television, the small boy was now standing in front of an ominous-looking hotel door. Harry could hear Draco’s sharp intake of breath, and smiled to himself. Then his eyes fell shut, and he was fast asleep.

*

When Harry awoke, the first thing he felt was something soft tickling his ear.

He slowly opened his eyes. Then froze. 

He was leaning against Draco, his face resting on Draco’s shoulder. 

Draco was sitting very still, apparently not moving a muscle. Harry wondered how long Draco had been sitting like that. The film seemed to have ended some time ago. 

Harry lifted his head and sat back upright. 

Draco turned and looked at him, smiling faintly. 

“Finally, you’re awake. I thought I was going to sit like that for the rest of the night”. 

Harry rubbed his face, yawning. “I’m sorry, you should have woken me up.” 

Draco shook his head dismissively. “You looked like you needed it, it was no trouble.” He stood up.  
“I should get going, work tomorrow, you know.” 

“Just a second,” Harry said. He went to the kitchen and grabbed the bags with Draco’s groceries. Then he returned to the living room and handed the bags to Draco. 

“I haven’t paid you for these,” Draco said uncertainly. 

“No worries. You can pay me next time we go shopping.” 

Draco smirked. “Are you planning on making this a regular thing? Shopping, tea and television?” 

Harry smiled and followed Draco to the door. 

“Why? Would you mind?” 

Draco looked at Harry one last time before walking out into the night. 

“Not one bit.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the kudos and comments, it's really fantastic. I promise you, romance is definitely on its way for Draco and Harry. As they say, good things come to those who wait ;-)
> 
> I'm trying very hard to proof-read everything several times, however, English is not my mother tongue, so I know I sometimes slip. My apologies. 
> 
> I'm working on next chapter, and a plan is ready for the next three. So I'm hoping you won't have to wait too long.


	7. Paparazzi

October and November went by in a blur, and Harry couldn’t believe it, when he realised that it was almost Christmas. 

He had spent most of the last two months in the company of Draco, who would stop by Harry’s place almost every evening when he got off work. The two of them would go to the shops, watch television or simply walk around the neighbourhood, talking. 

On the weekends, Harry would have dinner at Draco’s house, or he would go visit the Weasleys. He also sometimes met with Neville and Luna, but that was mostly early afternoons, which gave Harry the night off to be with Draco. 

Harry felt… good. He liked the slow days, when he didn’t have to do anything besides fixing things around the house and hanging out with Draco. 

He sometimes thought about taking a job somewhere - just until he had to start his N.E.W.T.s next summer, but he hadn’t gotten around to it. 

Sometimes at night, he would wake up feeling cold and clammy; fragments of a half-remembered nightmare still in the back of his mind. However, the nightmares were getting scarce, and he found that he almost never had them, when he had been seeing Draco the same day. 

Harry sometimes wondered about his friendship with Draco. It was weird being this close to someone, and not telling his best friends about them. Harry had a feeling Hermione knew he was keeping something from her and Ron. She had nagged him about being alone too much, and often tried to get Harry to talk about what he did all those nights he was supposed to be alone, but was actually with Draco. 

 

Harry thought about this, as he made his way down Diagon Alley. He’d arranged to go Christmas-shopping with Draco that evening, and had agreed to meet Draco outside Madam Malkin’s, who’d been kind enough to let Draco leave work early. 

It had started to snow when Harry reached the shop. He could see Draco on the other side of the window, putting on his winter robes and chatting animatedly to Mrs. Malkin. 

Harry smiled to himself and buried his hands deep in his pockets. Tonight, was another freezing cold December night, and every shop on the wizarding street was glowing cosily in the dark, reflecting the glittery Christmas decorations hanging from the windows. 

Harry heard the bell tinkle and turned around. Draco was walking towards him, the snow squeaking beneath his boots. 

“Hello, Harry,” he said, grinning. “Ready to get this horrible ordeal over with?” 

Harry smirked. “I take it you don’t particularly like Christmas shopping?”

Draco scowled and started walking, leading Harry towards Flourish & Blotts across the street. 

“That’s an understatement,” he said. “I loathe it.” 

Harry laughed. “All right, then - let’s try to be quick about it, and then he we can head back to my place and watch this Christmas film that’s showing tonight.” 

“Well, that’s not a bad prospect to have,” Draco said smiling. 

The two of them went into the bookstore where Harry bought a new set of quality quills for Hermione, and Draco bought a cookbook for himself. 

“What about your parents?” Harry asked tentatively. “Aren’t you getting anything for them?”. 

Draco shrugged, tugging his new book inside his shopping bag. 

“They probably wouldn’t open them anyway. This year I actually only need to get two presents, and one of them I can’t buy today, seeing as you’re with me.” 

Harry felt a flutter in his chest at Draco’s words, and couldn’t help grinning stupidly at him. 

“You’re getting me a present?” 

Draco lifted an eyebrow. “Sure. Why not? Aren’t you getting me anything, then?” 

Harry thought about his present for Draco, hidden away in his bedroom as they spoke, and smiled to himself.

“Maybe. If you’re nice to me.” 

Draco ruffled Harry’s hair jovially. “I always am.” 

_You are_ , Harry secretly thought, feeling that weird flutter again. 

“Who else are you getting a present?” Harry asked Draco, as they turned a corner, making their way through the crowd of late Christmas shoppers. 

“Oh, it’s just Nott,” Draco said with a small shrug. 

Harry stopped walking. 

“What’s the matter?” Draco had stopped walking too.

“I thought… I though you said you didn’t like him,” Harry said, aware that his voice was sounding kind of shrill. 

Draco looked at him quizzically. 

“Well… I don’t. But he was my only comfort at Hogwarts, and I feel that I at least owe him this much.” 

Harry gulped. He had no idea why he was reacting like this, but he suddenly felt very cold and lonely, even though he was standing in the middle of a crowd of people. 

“Does… does Nott still have feelings for you?” Harry finally managed to croak. 

There was a long pause. Then Draco took a step closer to Harry, his eyes narrowed. 

“What if he does?” 

Draco’s voice was merely a whisper. He was staring directly into Harry’s eyes. 

Harry couldn’t move. His knees felt wobbly and his throat was suddenly very dry. 

Draco took another step towards Harry, his face merely inches away. 

“Harry... what if he does?” 

“- Mr. Potter? Do you have a moment?” 

Harry and Draco both jumped.

A fat, wheezy man was standing before them, a wide smile on his puffy face. 

“Well, isn’t this something,” the man said. “ _The Saviour_ himself in the company of a former Death Eater.” He glanced at the bags from Flourish  & Blotts. “Christmas shopping, by the looks of it. How very interesting, indeed.” 

The man made a move with his hand, and before either of them could react, he’d taken out a camera and clicked the flash button. 

“What the _fuck!?_ ” 

Harry pulled out his wand and directed it at the man. He was absentmindedly aware that several people had gathered around the three of them, staring fixedly at the scene.

Draco had gotten out his own wand and was pointing it at the man, looking at him with utter disgust. 

“I advise you to get the _hell_ out of our way before I hex you into oblivion,” he sneered. 

The man took a step backwards, not taking his eyes off Draco’s wand. 

“Now, now gentlemen – no need to get all worked up, it was just one picture,” he said, his hand moving towards his back pocket. 

“Don’t even think about it,” Harry said dangerously, taking a step closer. 

The man took a deep sigh, and raised his hands in surrender. “All right, all right, you got me. I promise I won’t get out my wand. However…” There was a loud _bang_ and within a fraction of a moment, he had spun around and apparated on the spot. 

Harry lowered his wand and looked at Draco. The sound of excited mumbling immediately rose from the people standing around them. Harry realised that they were staring at him and Draco, their eyebrows raised and their fingers pointing in their direction. 

“We should go,” he said shortly and grabbed Draco’s wrist. “We’ll have to get the rest of the Christmas presents later.” 

They once again started walking down Diagon Alley, Harry in the lead. They went out of Diagon Alley through The Leaky Cauldron, and found the nearest bus stop. Harry had long ago convinced Draco to take the bus with him back to their houses. At first, Draco had thought Harry was being extremely silly. After all, apparating was a lot faster. Draco, however, soon learned to appreciate the ride; exclaiming over the Muggles sitting near him, and pushing the stop-button every time someone started to get up.

“What the hell do you think that idiot was all about?” Draco said with a frown. 

Harry shrugged. “I don’t know… perhaps he was just some crazy fan. I get those al lot. That’s why I don’t often visit any wizarding places.” 

“We could prosecute, you know,” Draco said. He’s definitely not allowed to corner people like that and take their photo. I mean, what if he wants to use it for something _sexual?_ ” 

“ _Ugh!_ I did _not_ need that mental image.” Harry shifted the bag to his other hand as the bus arrived, and pulled out a few coins from his pocket. 

“Look, forget about him. Let’s head back to my place. I could use some hot chocolate, and I want to watch that Christmas film, I was talking about.” 

Draco looked at Harry for a moment. Then he shrugged. “All right. Guess I could go with that too.”

*

The next day, Harry woke up around nine and went down to the kitchen where he made himself a cup of coffee. Then he went into the living room to watch some television. 

He had only just sat down in the sofa, when there was a loud noise from somewhere to his left. 

_"Harry!"_

He jumped and spilled coffee unto his lap. When he turned his head, Hermione's head was protruding from the fire place, her face livid. 

“Ron and I are coming through,” she said bossily, the rest of her body stepping out of the fire place followed by Ron, who looked very ruffled, like someone who had only just gotten out of bed. 

Harry looked at the pair of them, his pants soaked, and feeling utterly perplexed. 

“What’s, - “ 

“Before you say anything, please explain what _this_ is all about!” Hermione demanded, slamming today’s copy of The Daily Prophet on the coffee table. Harry stepped closer and peered at the front page. He gasped. 

There, looking extremely sheepish, was a picture of himself and Draco, standing in the middle of Diagon Alley, each carrying bags from Flourish & Blotts. 

Harry stared in amazement as the image of himself unsuccessfully tried to hide Draco behind him, yelling soundlessly at the person taking the photo and shaking his fist angrily. 

Hermione had snatched the paper from the table and was brandishing it at Harry. “Care to tell us why you were Christmas shopping with _Draco Malfoy!?_ Since when have the two of you been on such a friendly level, I dare ask!?” 

Harry ran both hands through his hair and slumped down onto the sofa. 

“I was going to tell you,” he said dejectedly. 

Ron had been hiding behind Hermione, but now he stepped forward, an incredulous look on his face. “Are you saying that you were _actually_ Christmas shopping with… Malfoy?” 

Harry closed his eyes. Then opened them. 

“Yes, Ron. I was.” 

Ron sat down on the chair opposite Harry, seemingly lost for words. Hermione, on the other hand, looked completely outraged. 

“But WHY, Harry!? Why on earth would you do that? You HATE him! He’s always been horrible to you. To us!”

Harry closed his eyes again. He knew this would have happened eventually, but now that it had, he found that he didn’t have anything remotely clever to say. 

“I don’t exactly hate him that much anymore. Or, maybe at all,” he whispered. 

Hermione finally seemed to deflate. She sat down next to Harry. 

“Right. I think you need to tell us everything, Harry. And please, start from the beginning.” 

Harry rubbed his eyes. “All right. I know. Let me just make some coffee, and I’ll tell you as much as I can.”

*

It was past noon before Harry finished telling them about his situation with Draco. He had made a large pot of coffee and served them a plate of biscuits. Then the three of them had settled around the dinner table where Harry told them everything about Draco being his neighbour and how the two of them had spent a lot of time together ever since he found out. He even told them about his first dinner at Draco’s place, and how Draco had been interested in the Black Family tapestry. 

He didn’t tell them everything, though. He left out the part of Draco being gay, and refrained from mentioning those strange moments when Harry had felt that there was… something else going on between them. Something he himself did not yet understand.

“… and so this guy just shows up outside Flourish and Blotts and takes a picture,” Harry finished. “It was really odd.” 

Hermione was cradling her cup, her lips pursed. “Well, he was obviously a journalist from The Daily Prophet,” she said. “They’ve been trying to sniff you out for the last few months, you know.” 

Harry looked at her. “What do you mean?” 

“Well, no one really knew where you went after the War. I think most people guessed that you were probably spending time a Ron’s, seeing as he’s practically family. But you’ve been off the radar ever since. Arthur mentioned that he had tried to make sure that Grimmauld Place would be a complete secret in order to give you some space. Tell me, have you been reading the paper since you moved in here, Harry?” 

Harry shrugged. “I don’t think so? I’ve had other stuff to do, you know. Didn’t exactly give it a thought. Why?” 

Hermione leaned forward, lowering her voice unnecessarily. “They’re _dying_ to find you, Harry. It’s like an obsession to them. Now that the war is over, they need something interesting to write about – oh, stop looking at me that way, Ron, you know they’re ruthless – what I mean to say is; you’re by far their biggest celebrity, but you’re also the most _mysterious_. They have all kinds of polls about where people think you’re living, what you’re doing, and most importantly of all; who you’re dating.” 

Harry groaned, hiding his face in his hands. “They just never stop, do they.” 

Ron leaned forward too and patted Harry on the back. “Don’t fuss about it mate, it’s not like people actually _believe_ the stuff The Daily Prophet is writing.” He snickered. “Hell, if they did, it would be very hard on your future dating life.” 

Harry’s head snapped up. He stared at Ron. 

“What are you talking about?” 

Ron grinned and gestured at the paper lying between them on the table. 

“Well, they’re basically saying that Malfoy is your secret lover, or something.” 

Harry’s mouth dropped open. 

Ron looked at him sympathetically. “I know, mate. Like you’d go for blokes, let alone Malfoy.” 

Harry managed a forced laugh. For some reason, he was feeling exceptionally flustered. “Is it just me, or is it really _hot_ in here?” He looked around at the fire place, then back at his friends. Hermione was looking at him, a frown on her face. 

“Something wrong, Hermione?” 

Hermione shook her head slowly, still looking strangely at Harry. 

“No, everything’s fine. Don’t worry about The Daily Prophet, they’ve always been rubbish.” She looked at Ron. “We should get going, I promised your mum we would help out with the puddings.” 

Harry started to gather plates and cups from the table.   
“Where are you going?” 

“Oh, it’s just early Christmas preparations,” Hermione said. “You _are_ coming over for Christmas on Friday, right?” 

Harry smiled. “Of course.”

He walked his friends to the door. It was snowing outside. Light was on at number 11, which meant that Draco would be home. An idea suddenly popped into Harry’s head. 

“Hey, do you want to hang out with Draco and me tomorrow? I’d really like you to meet him. Or, er… you know what I mean. Meet _Draco_. Not… Malfoy,” Harry babbled.

Ron and Hermione looked at each other. Then Ron shrugged. “I guess we could do that.” 

“Great, I’ll let Draco know. My place - around eight?” 

They nodded. Ron had started to leave, when Hermione suddenly stopped and turned around. 

“Look, I’m sorry, I yelled at you, Harry,” she said. “It’s just… we’re your best friends, and we had to find out about Malfoy from that stupid article. You understand that, right?” 

Harry nodded and gave her a warm smile. “Of course I understand. I promise I’ll remember to talk to you guys about these things. You mean a lot to me, you know.” 

“Oh, and I’ll talk to my parents and let them know nothing’s going on between you and Malfoy,” Run put in. “My mum nearly fainted when she noticed the front page.” 

“What about Ginny?” Harry asked tentatively. “How did she… you know? Did she say anything” 

“I think she’s all right,” Hermione said gently. “In fact, I think she’s started to date Dean again. They went out together yesterday, at least.” 

“Oh… right.” 

Harry was surprised to find that he didn’t feel sad about Ginny at all. On the contrary, what he felt was a lot closer to relief. 

“So... you’re all right?” Hermione looked at Harry, her foot still on the threshold. 

“Yeah, I am. Thanks, Hermione,” Harry said, smiling. 

Hermione returned his smile. Then she walked out into the snow with Ron.

*

Harry didn’t feel like reading the article about Draco, and so he managed to avoid the subject for most of the day, giving the newspaper a wide berth, every time he went into the kitchen to get something. However, if people were going to react like Hermione and Ron did, he should probably know exactly what the article was saying. 

Finally, late afternoon, he sat down and opened the first page, then started to read. 

 

_**Friends, enemies or something else entirely?** _

_As many of our readers will know, The Daily Prophet has been following the curious disappearance of Harry Potter, also known as The Saviour, ever since he conquered He, Who Must Not be Named earlier this year. The whereabouts concerning now 18-year old Potter has been a mystery to many – including the female fans of Potter, who are all desperately hoping to win the heart of this brave, young man._

_Now, however, The Daily Prophet is proud to announce that we have not only found Potter, but also discovered a most significant secret about the boy, which, undoubtedly, will leave many young witches broken hearted._

_Last night our reporter spotted Potter Christmas shopping in Diagon Alley with none other than Draco Malfoy; a former Death Eater and close associate of ‘You Know Who’. Malfoy is the son of Lucius Malfoy, who is currently serving a lifetime sentence in Azkaban for his evolvement in various incidents caused by the Death Eaters. It is widely known that young Draco Malfoy only dodged prison because of the testimony from Potter, claiming that Malfoy did not act on his own accord._

_Many have wondered about this act of mercy from Potter, and rumours have long been buzzing around the fact that both young men appeared to have vanished from the wizarding world after the end of the War._

_Interesting it is, then, to see both boys together, casually strolling down one the busiest wizarding streets in England, and looking nothing short of a happy couple._

_Of course, this strange friendship (or is it more than friendship?) of the two, former rivals has not yet been confirmed, but our reporter did notice an undeniable chemistry between the two of them, and several witnesses elaborate on how the boys at one point, “just stopped and stared devotedly at each other”._

_Needless to say, many of us would like to get to the bottom of this mystery: Is The Saviour in fact romantically involved with Draco Malfoy, or is there something else going on?_

_Find out more next Friday, when we talk to Malfoy’s old school mates about He, Who Must Not Be Named, love and, of course, Harry Potter._

 

Harry put down the paper with a groan. This was _not_ good. The reporter had made it sound as if it was obvious, that he and Draco were an item. 

_How the hell did they come to that conclusion_ , Harry thought. How could anyone mistake a simple stroll down Diagon Alley for something romantic? It made no sense whatsoever. 

Shaking his head in disbelief, he decided to make himself a strong cup of tea and watch some television, but was interrupted by a knock on the door. 

Harry went out into the hallway and opened the door. 

Draco was standing outside looking agitated and holding a copy of The Daily Prophet

“Have you seen this?” Draco asked, moving past Harry before Harry had the chance to invite him inside. 

Harry closed the door and followed Draco into the living room 

“Yeah, I did… Hermione and Ron came by this morning to talk about it.” 

Draco was pacing around the room, hands in his hair. 

“I’m going to KILL that little shit, who wrote this,” Draco spat. “What a lousy, slimy, fucking… _git!_ ”

Harry leaned against the doorframe watching Draco rage on. “I think we should just ignore it. It’s not like there’s any truth to it, anyway,” he said. 

Draco stopped pacing. He looked at Harry.

“Yes, well… I know there isn’t, it’s just… my mother wrote me, you know?” 

Harry frowned and crossed his arms over his chest. He thought about what Draco had told him about his parents; how they’d disowned him after learning the truth about his sexuality. If Narcissa knew about Malfoy, then this article shouldn’t be that shocking to her. 

“Oh… what did she say?” 

Malfoy laughed humourlessly. “Oh, you’re going to love this… she’s actually _pleased_.”

“ _What!?_ ” Harry blurted.

“I know. It would be extremely hilarious if it wasn’t so stupid. Apparently, she and my dad don’t mind me being gay if it’s you, _The Saviour_ , who’s the object of my… ‘gayness’.”

Harry blinked. “But… that makes no sense at all?” 

Draco rolled his eyes and sighed deeply. “It actually does. They believe you could make the Malfoy-name reputable again because you’re like, the symbol of heroism, fame, popularity and everything. If I was… _dating_ you, then being a Malfoy suddenly wouldn’t be shameful anymore, you see? Merlin, my parents disgust me.” He sat down on the edge of the sofa, covering his face with his hands. 

Harry watched Draco for a minute, not knowing how to respond to this news. He felt angry that Narcissa and Lucius were trying to use his relationship with Draco to their own gain. On the other hand, he was glad Draco had made contact to his parents. _Nothing_ , Harry thought, was worth losing your parents for. 

“Did you write her back?” He finally asked Draco.

“No, not yet. I don’t know how to phrase a letter without calling her all kinds of names. I just can’t _believe_ them.”

“Don’t you _miss_ them, though?” Harry persisted. 

Draco sighed heavily. 

“Of course I do. I mean, they are not great parents, and I don’t agree with everything they do, but… they’ve always had my best interest, and I guess deep down I will always love them, no matter how ignorant they might be.” 

Harry nodded slowly, thinking how to tell Draco about this new idea he had been developing inside his mind.

“Perhaps you don’t need to tell them the entire truth about… what we are. I mean, if it makes your relationship easier.” 

Draco narrowed his eyes. “Are you saying I should let them believe that we’re… you know?” 

Harry shrugged. “Just until they see how well you’re doing on your own, and that it doesn’t matter whether you like boys or girls.” 

Draco’s eyes widened. He looked incredulously at Harry. “You’d actually do that? For me?” 

Harry took a step closer to Draco, shrugging again. “I suppose it doesn’t matter what they think as long as _we_ know the truth.” 

He looked at Draco. The other boy was just sitting there, looking at Harry, his eyes a warmer shade of grey than Harry had ever seen them. 

“Thank you, Harry. I don’t know what to…” 

“Don’t worry about it,” Harry said dismissively. “The only thing I’ll ask of you in return, is to have dinner with me, Ron and Hermione tomorrow night. I want the three of you to get to know each other, and I don’t want you to be a secret anymore.” 

Draco tilted his head to the side, smirking. “After that article, I think it’s pretty hard to call me a secret, don’t you?” 

He stood up and put on his winter robes. “But all right. I guess I can have dinner with Granger and Weasley. Only, _I'll_ do the cooking.”

Harry laughed and followed Draco to the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right, so this one was a bit longer that the rest, but I had a lot of ideas, I guess. 
> 
> Thanks to everyone who are kind enough to leave me a comment, it's keeping me going! 
> 
> Hopefully, I'll be able to post a new chapter sometime next week. Keep posted!


	8. Christmas, Narcissa and an evil bag of crisps

“Don’t you dare add the pasta before you’ve salted the water!” 

Harry jumped and dropped the bag of pasta he had been holding, spilling it everywhere. 

Draco rolled his eyes and flicked his wand, making the pasta swoop up from the floor and into the rubbish bin. 

Harry stood back and watched Draco add heaps of salt to the pot of boiling water, not wanting to get in Draco’s way and risk being shouted at again. 

“I didn’t know you were _this_ fussy about food,” Harry said, crossing his arms. “I only wanted to help. It’s _my_ kitchen, after all.” 

Draco was now chopping garlic with the speed of one of those professional chefs, Harry had watched on television. He glanced briefly at Harry, smiling, but otherwise kept his eyes on the chopping board. 

“Yes, well, I’m sorry, but you’re not really helping, Harry. I told you, I would be cooking this dinner, but apparently, you’re determined to ruin my perfectly planned menu.” 

Harry sighed and sat down on a bar stool. He cracked open a Muggle beer and took a deep gulp. 

“I’ll just stay here, then. Tell me if you need me to help ruin things at some point.” 

Draco snickered. “That’s not likely.” 

He carefully put the chopped garlic aside, and started chopping up tomatoes next. 

Harry’s stomach growled. The kitchen smelled amazing, and the sound of a sizzling pork roast was rising from the oven. 

“This is not too bad, though,” Harry said contently. “You, cooking for me in my kitchen. I could get used to that.” 

The sound of chopping came to a hold. Draco’s back looked tense for the briefest moment. Then it seemed to relax, and the chopping continued. “Well, I’m not your domestic wife, Harry,” Draco said, his voice slightly higher than usual, but still with an edge of a smirk hidden beneath it. 

“Maybe you should be, if this is how things would run,” Harry joked, sipping his beer. 

Draco turned his head and looked at Harry, one eyebrow raised. “Welcome to the 20th century, Harry. This is _not_ how things run.” 

Harry laughed. “I know, I was only joking. You would make a lovely wife, though. Especially with that apron.” 

Draco looked down at himself. He was wearing a flowery apron, which Harry had discovered in one of the cupboards a few days after moving in.

“Well, I think I look amazing,” Draco said defiantly. “Only someone as handsome as me could pull this fright of an apron off.” 

Harry laughed. Draco gave Harry a small wink, and returned to the chopping board. 

Harry stared at Draco’s back, his throat suddenly very dry. _What are you doing!?_ He berated himself, draining half his beer in one go. _Are you… flirting with Draco? Get a bloody grip on yourself!_

Shaking slightly, he opened a bag of crisp and stuffed a handful in his mouth, preventing himself from saying more stupid things, such as calling Draco _wife_. Unfortunately, he had been a bit too eager with the crisps, and half of them got stuck in his throat. 

Gagging and spluttering, he tried to flush down the crisps with the rest of the beer, but it only worsened things, making the rest of the crisps get stuck too. 

Eyes watering, he reached for his wand lying on a shelf a few feet away, but Draco got to him first. 

_“Anapneo!”_ Draco shouted, his wand pointed at Harry. 

Harry immediately found his airway clear, and he heaved in a deep breath, tears of panic streaming down his face. 

“Harry, are you all right!?” Draco was standing in front of Harry, holding on to his shoulders and looking into his eyes, a worried expression on his face. 

Harry gulped down more air, his nerves finally starting to settle down.  
“Th-thanks,” he croaked. “That was… really embarrassing.” 

“What? Stuffing yourself to death?” Draco said drily. “Imagine that; The Saviour slaying Voldemort, but choking to death on a bag of crisps. What a legacy to leave behind, indeed.”

Harry laughed shakily. He lifted his gaze to Draco’s. Draco was still holding on to him, his face level with Harry’s. 

Harry’s heart was beating very fast. _Must be the adrenalin_ , he thought as he looked into Draco’s eyes. _The aftershock is making me light-headed and short of breath_.

Time seemed to have come to a hold. There was a small ringing to Harry’s ears, as he watched Draco move closer, not taking his eyes off Harry. The grip on Harry’s shoulders tightened. Without knowing what he was doing, Harry slowly leaned in. His lips were inches from Draco’s; his brain had completely shut off, and he closed his eyes, ready to close the final gap… 

There was a knock on the door. 

Harry’s head snapped up, and he tumbled out of Draco’s grip. He was dimly aware of Draco letting out what sounded like a frustrated groan behind him, as he sprinted to the hallway, his heart still racing. 

He flung the door open and hastily straightened his face, smiling widely at Ron and Hermione, who were standing outside looking cold but cheerful. 

“Hi mate,” Ron said, clapping Harry on the back, as he walked past him and into the hallway. 

Hermione smiled and hugged Harry. Harry closed the door and went to help his friends with their coats and hats.

Ron wandered off into the living room, leaving Harry and Hermione standing in the hallway. As soon as Ron was gone, Hermione rounded on Harry. 

“What’s happened!?” she hissed. “You look weird.” 

Harry sneaked a glance of himself in the mirror. He looked very flustered; his cheeks pink and his eyes wide and alert. 

“I… I’m fine,” he lied, smiling at Hermione. He turned to follow Ron into the living room, but Hermione stopped him. 

“No, you’re not. Does this have something to do with Malfoy? Did he do something?” 

Harry blinked. “No, of course not. Everything’s fine. He’s in the kitchen, actually, we should go say hi.” 

Hermione looked suspiciously at him for a moment. Then she shrugged. “All right. Lead the way.” 

The three of them went into the kitchen, where Draco was busy sprinkling basil on four bowls of pasta. 

“Hermione and Ron are here!” Harry said, his voice, he noticed, sounding overly cheerful. 

Draco turned around and wiped his hands in the flowery apron. Harry noticed Ron glance at it in horror. Draco immediately went to shake their hands. “Granger, Weasley, good to see you,” he said,” smiling at them. 

Ron returned Draco’s smile awkwardly. He was standing very close to Hermione, looking as if he was afraid Draco would suddenly curse him. 

Hermione on the other hand was looking approvingly at Draco. She raised her chin and gave a small nod towards Draco. “Nice apron, Malfoy.” 

Draco smirked. “Thanks. Harry forced me into it. Can’t really deny The Saviour any favours, you know.” 

Ron snickered. 

“Can I offer you a beer? Or perhaps a glass of wine?” Harry asked. 

Both Hermione and Ron wanted beer, so Harry grabbed three bottles from the refrigerator and cracked them open. “Cheers,” he said, and they all drank, Draco sipping his glass of red wine. 

“Dinner’s almost ready, you should go sit down, and I’ll bring it out,” Draco said, turning back to the bowls of pasta. Harry led his friends to the dinner table inside the living room, then he went back into the kitchen to help Draco. 

“Do you… need me to carry something?” he asked Draco tentatively. His heart was beating fast again; the memory of that strange moment they had shared only minutes ago still fresh in his mind. 

Draco didn’t look at Harry. He was busy grating a generous amount of parmesan on each bowl. 

“Sure, you can take those two, and I’ll bring the rest.” 

Harry reached out a hand to grab the bowl, but Draco snatched out his own hand and caught it half way. 

“Harry… “Draco murmured in a low voice. “That thing, just before… what was that about?” He looked fixedly at Harry, his eyes slightly narrowed. 

Harry gulped. He looked down at Draco’s hand which covered his own. Then shook his head. “I don’t know,” he whispered truthfully. 

Draco moved closer an inch, his mouth almost touching Harry’s ear. Harry held his breath, feeling faint. 

“Do you think, you, -“ 

“- Do you guys need help with anything?” 

Draco immediately let go of Harry’s hand, and turned his head to look at Hermione, who was staring at them, her brows furrowed. 

“No, everything’s fine, food is on its way,” Draco said smoothly. “Let’s eat.”

*

Harry finally began to relax as he ate his way through Draco’s pasta dish, which of course, was delicious. He didn’t have to play host at any time during the evening. Draco had that covered. None of their glasses were left empty for more than seconds, and when they got to the second course, Draco expertly stood up and grinded pepper onto Ron and Hermione’s dished.

Conversation was flowing too. Ron looked a lot more comfortable after two huge meals and four bottles of beer. He was laughing freely and getting into an animated discussion about Quidditch with Draco, who likewise seemed to enjoy himself; leaning on his elbows and listening to Ron’s babble about the Chudley Cannons, who, apparently, had signed a new beater. Occasionally, Harry would catch Draco’s eyes, and he would feel his stomach give a sudden lurch. 

Harry had a feeling Hermione was watching him every time his eyes strayed to Draco. Perhaps she knew something had happened between them. It wouldn’t be the first time she had seen through Harry’s troubled mind. However, whenever he met her gaze, she would give him a small smile and look away. 

When Draco finally served the pudding – homemade panna cotta – Ron looked at Draco with nothing short of reverence. 

“Malfoy, I have to say, you’re growing on me,” Ron said breathlessly, eyeing the panna cotta hungrily. “You may be a git, but you can definitely cook.” 

Draco smiled and leaned back in his chair, a glass of wine cradled in his hands. “You’re not too bad either, Weasley,” he said. “I think I might actually get used to you.” 

“Look, if you cook like this every time we hang out, Harry is going to have to share you,” Ron stated and started to eat his dessert with almost magical speed. 

Draco looked at Harry, a faint smile on his lips. “I don’t particularly like to share,” he said. “But I guess we could do this again.” 

Harry had blushed at Draco’s words. He tried to control his face as he turned towards Hermione. 

“What do you think, Hermione? You think you could do this again?” 

“Actually, I think Draco should come and join us for Christmas on Friday,” Hermione said matter-of-factly. “I already asked Molly and Arthur, and they think it’s a great idea.” 

Ron, Harry and Draco all stared at Hermione. Ron had his spoon halfway to his lips. Raspberry sauce was dripping into his lap.

Harry’s eyes flickered to Draco. He looked rather startled, and Harry noticed a pink flush creeping up his cheeks. 

“You… invited Malfoy to come spend Christmas with my family?” Ron asked stupidly, looking at Hermione, his spoon still dripping raspberry. 

“Sure. Why not,” Hermione said, turning her gaze to Draco. “If he wants to?” 

Draco cleared his throat and put down his glass. “That’s… very nice of you, but I don’t know whether…” He looked at Harry nervously. 

Harry looked at Draco honestly. “I would really like you to come. Hermione said it’s fine, and so apparently do Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. I mean… it’s better than just staying home alone, isn’t it?” 

Ron’s eyes suddenly brightened. “Oh! You could help my mum with the food! She always messes up the roast. It’s way too dry for my taste.” 

“Honestly, Ron! Is food really _everything_ you think about!? Draco would be a _guest_ , not the bloody Chef!” Hermione scolded. 

“All right, all right – sorry, Malfoy. Of course, it would be great having you over, being Harry’s friend and all.” 

Draco smiled and waved his hand dismissively. “No worries, Weasley.” He hesitated a second before continuing. “I gladly accept the invitation, thank you.” 

“Cheers to that!” Ron half-shouted and lifted his drink. 

“I’ll ask my mum to knit you a Weasley-sweater. How’s maroon for you?” 

Harry couldn’t help snickering at Draco’s appalled expression. It would without a doubt we one of the strangest Christmases Harry had ever had.

*

Friday afternoon, Harry put on one his new dress robes, before walking next door to meet Draco.

As he walked through the gate, he looked around and took in the view of the quiet front lawn, which was covered in a fine dust of snow. 

He walked up to the front step and pushed the doorbell. Draco opened after a few seconds. Harry immediately got the feeling that something wasn’t right. Draco looked worried; his face screwed up in an anxious grimace, his face very white. 

“Are you… almost ready to go?” Harry asked, watching Draco apprehensively. 

Draco bit his lip, glancing back over his shoulder towards the living room. 

“I’m afraid I might need ten more minutes, or so,” he said in a hushed voice. “Something’s come up.” 

At the same moment Draco stopped speaking, a bossy female voice rang from the hallway. 

_“Draco, darling, who are you speaking to?”_

Draco sighed heavily. He managed to give Harry an apologetic smile, before opening the door further and revealing none other than Narcissa Malfoy. 

She was walking towards them. Tall, elegant and haughty looking, just as Harry remembered her. 

“Ah, Mr. Potter, what a pleasure,” she said, smiling coldly at Harry and extending a slim, bony hand. 

Harry took it. It was cold, and he shuddered inwardly at the touch. 

“Let’s rejoin in the living room,” Narcissa said imperiously, walking back towards the living room, before any of them could utter a single word.

“I am not saying I approve of Draco’s methods, when it comes to acquiring this house, “she spoke as they walked into the living room. “That being said, it does not look too dreadful, I suppose. Perhaps a bit too beige for my taste.” 

Harry and Draco followed her in silence. Narcissa sat down on the very edge of a plump chair, and looked Harry up and down. 

“I must say, I am very pleased to hear that you have captured the affection of my son,” she said, smoothing down her robes. “As you might know, Lucius and I do not necessarily approve of Draco’s new lifestyle. However, we are glad he at least shows good judgement in choosing you as a life partner, Potter. We are quite aware of the… sacrifices you have made in order restore peace in the wizarding community.” She gave Harry a small nod of approval with her head, which didn’t quite match the coldness of her eyes. 

She looked up again and made a sweeping gesture with her hand. “Please, boys, sit down.” 

Harry hesitated. Then he sat down in the chair opposite Narcissa. Draco took the chair next to his. 

Narcissa looked at the two of them with narrowed eyes. “Lucius and I were very surprised when we read the article,” she drawled. “Considering the history between you two, it is difficult to imagine how you ever found each other.”

Harry gulped involuntary, and moved closer to Draco, leaning against his warm shoulder. Narcissa lifted an eyebrow. “Granted, I do perceive a certain… chemistry between you. Do not feel like you cannot be at ease with each other in my company.” 

Draco put an arm around Harry and looked defiantly at his mother. “We don’t.” 

Harry was just starting to think about how nice it felt, being held by Draco, when Narcissa spoke again. 

“One thing I must stress, however,” Narcissa said, “is the importance of maintaining the family name. I am aware that it will be… challenging, considering your… preferences. I have looked at alternative possibilities, and there is an orphanage which specialises in facilitating children of pure-blood heritage. I believe this would be an excellent solution,” she finished, looking at them both expectantly. 

Harry was at a complete loss for words. He was gaping at Narcissa, not comprehending how _anyone_ could be this horrible. Then he glanced at Draco. The blond was sitting motionless, staring unbelievably at his mother. 

“Mother, I think you need to leave.” 

Draco’s voice was shaking with fury. He had risen from his chair, his fist clenched at his side. Harry pulled at Draco’s robes, trying to get him to sit down again. “It’s fine,” he muttered. “Do worry about it, just _ignore_ her.” 

“The hell I will. Mother, you _do not_ get to decide how I live my life. You kicked me out of the Manor, remember? And now you have the nerve to come here and order me around? I’m done with it!”

Narcissa looked slowly up at Draco without flinching. “Are you quite finished, or do I need to sit here and listen to more insults from my only son?” 

Draco took a deep breath and closed his eyes. Harry thought he might be counting to ten inside his head. When he opened his eyes, he looked a lot calmer. Actually, he looked a lot more like his mother, his face cold and stripped of all emotions. 

“My apologies, mother, I might have spoken out of terms. You must excuse us, but we’re running late.” 

“Ah, yes. You are going to spend Christmas with the Weasleys. How… quaint.” Narcissa stood up. “I will leave you to it, then. Do come visit soon, Draco. And do not hesitate to bring Harry with you.” She patted Draco’s cheek awkwardly, then she spun around and apparated on the spot. 

Draco let out a shaky sigh and looked at Harry. 

“I’m so sorry you had to be dragged into this,” he said. “I had no idea she would show up like this.” 

He went to stand in front of the mirror and straightened his collar. 

Harry met Draco’s eyes in the mirror and gave him a small smile. “Don’t worry about it, I’m used to being around annoying relatives, remember?” 

Draco grinned. “I suppose you’re right. Anyway, let’s get going, we don’t want to leave your friends hanging.”

*

They apparated in the fields just outside the Burrow; Harry spending a few minutes afterwards with his head between his legs, trying to stop the world spinning. Draco patted his back gently until Harry finally felt his queasiness disappear. Then he stood up and the two of them walked to the crooked front door.

As they stood waiting on the threshold, Harry faintly remembered all the nasty things Draco had said about the Weasleys’ home back at Hogwarts. But that was in the past. The Draco he’d gotten to know would never do something like that. 

Mrs. Weasley opened the door and smiled brightly at them. “Oh Harry, Draco – how lovely to see you both. Please, come inside.” 

They stepped into the small hallway where Mrs. Weasley enveloped Harry in a long, fierce hug. “My dear boy, Merry Christmas.” She kissed his cheek and turned to Draco, smiling warmly. 

“Draco, so glad you could make it, welcome to our house!” She put her arms around Draco too, and he returned her hug awkwardly, glancing at Harry, nervously. Something told Harry, Draco hadn’t been hugged a lot throughout his life. 

Harry beamed back at him. Molly Weasley’s way of welcoming Draco had been lightyears from Narcissas calculated manners, and he suddenly felt a rush of affection for the woman who had practically raised him for the last seven years outside Hogwarts. 

“Come on through, come on through,” said Mrs. Weasley, leading the way to the living room, which was crowded with people, mostly Weasleys. 

Draco came in last, looking apprehensively and nervously around the room. Harry immediately spotted Ron and Hermione. Thy were standing next to George, all eating small pastries and looking very festive with Christmas hats perched on their heads. 

Hermione caught Harry’s eyes and gestured for him to come closer. Harry walked over to them, Draco moving with him. 

“Merry Christmas,” Harry said, grinning at the three of them. He pushed Draco forward a bit, so that he became part of their small semi-circle. 

George looked at Draco curiously. “Hi, Malfoy,” George said, shaking hands with Draco. “Glad you could make it; Ron here hasn’t been able to stop talking about your food since you lot had dinner at Harry’s house. You must be some kind of a cooking genius.” 

Draco shrugged, looking embarrassed but pleased. “I just had a lot of practise. It’s nothing, really.” 

“It’s not,” Ron interjected. “That strange jelly-dessert was excellent! So smooth and wobbly at the same time.” 

“It’s called Panna Cotta,” Hermione said, rolling her eyes at Ron. “Honestly, I must have told you a thousand times by now.” 

“Who cares what it’s called if it’s yummy,” Ron muttered, looking annoyed. 

“How’s business?” Draco asked George interestedly. “I walk past your shop every day. It always looks crowded.” 

“It’s going great!” George replied, snatching a glass of wine from the tray Mrs. Weasley was carrying. “I heard you’re working in Diagon Alley too?” 

Draco and George quickly got into a long talk about businesses in Diagon Alley, and Harry wandered off to get a glass of wine himself. Ginny was standing talking to Fleur and she gave him a small smile as he walked by. They were okay. 

He was just about to go and say hello to Bill and Charlie, when Hermione suddenly appeared next to him, a determined look in her brown eyes. 

“Harry. I want to talk to you. About Draco.” 

She grabbed Harry’s sleeve and pulled him away from the others. Harry looked at Hermione completely perplexed. “What’s up?”

“You tell me,” Hermione hissed. “There’s _something_ going on between you and Draco, and it’s making me nervous.” She looked around, making sure no one was listening. 

“I heard something about him, Harry,” she said. “Apparently, Dean knows someone who’s friends with Theodore Nott, and he’s saying that Draco is gay. Did you know?!” 

Harry swallowed. “Er, yes I did… but I really don’t see what the point is?” 

Hermione bit her lip. She looked concernedly at Harry. “Well, how do you know Draco isn’t really behind that article about the two of you? What if he’s trying to, I don’t know, make himself more popular by making people believe, you two are… you know?” 

Harry started incredulously at Hermione, feeling anger rising inside him. 

“So, you think Draco is just using me?” he said through gritted teeth. “You think this whole friendship is nothing but a scam? Is that what you’re saying?” He tried to keep his voice level, but could easily hear how it was shaking with supressed fury. 

Hermione looked anxious, but didn’t shrink under Harry’s gaze. “Look, Harry, I’m sorry, I’m just trying to look out for you. I’ve noticed how Draco looks at you, and there’s something going on. I can feel it. I just don’t want you to get hurt, that’s all.” 

_“I’m not going to get hurt,”_ Harry whispered furiously. “And what do you mean by ‘the way he looks at me’?” 

Hermione looked at Harry almost sadly. “Oh, Harry. You’re so blind.” 

Harry was about to insist that Hermione explained herself better, but at that moment Mr. Weasley tapped his glass and spoke in a raised voice, “Christmas dinner’s ready – find yourself a seat!”

Sending Hermione one last suspicious glare, Harry followed her and the rest of the party to the large dinner table at sat down.

*

The Christmas feast was excellent. Harry helped himself to several servings of stuffed turkey and roasted potatoes. Draco was sitting next to Mrs. Weasley, and they seemed to be talking animatedly about different cooking techniques.

Harry felt Hermione’s gaze upon him, but he avoided her, turning instead to Charlie, who was going to be home for the next three weeks, visiting his new girlfriend. 

When the rest of the puddings had been devoured, Harry leaned back in his chair feeling very full and very content. He looked up, and saw to his amazement, that Draco had risen from his chair and was tapping his own glass with his knife. 

The room fell silent. Everyone was looking at Draco, expectantly. 

“Sorry to interrupt everyone, I just wanted to say a few words,” Draco spoke in that slightly deep, warm voice, Harry had gotten so well-accustomed to. 

“First of all, I want to thank you, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, for inviting me into your house. I never expected to feel so welcomed and included as I have tonight. I know there’s a certain history between our families and that we haven’t seen eye to eye on most occasions. I’m happy, you’ve given me the chance to prove history wrong. I want to formally apologise for everything I, myself, have ever done or said regarding your family, and I want to apologise on behalf of my father, who, hopefully will come to his senses at some point.” He raised his glass at Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, but didn’t sit down. 

“Second of all, I want to thank Harry for being the main reason, I’m standing here today. Thank you Harry, for being such a generous friend and neighbour, and for trusting me, even if you didn’t have to. It means a lot to me. Actually, it means the world to me.” Draco raised his glass at Harry and smiled. Harry returned the smile, feeling oddly dizzy. The whole table erupted with applause as Draco sat down, and Mrs. Weasley patted Draco’s hand, dapping her eyes with her handkerchief. Mr. Weasley leaned over the table and shook Draco’s hand, telling him that he would be welcome at any time. 

Harry glanced at Hermione. She was looking at Draco, completely baffled. When she finally caught Harry’s eyes, she shook her head, smiled and mouthed, “I’m sorry.” 

Harry winked at her. Then he poured some more wine into his glass and watched as the Weasley-family took turns in thanking Draco for his speech. When they finally settled back in their seats, Draco looked up and met Harry’s eyes. 

They looked at each other for a long time, only breaking eye contact when Mrs. Weasley put on good old Celestina Warbeck, and everyone started to shout in protest. 

It was the best Christmas Harry could ever remember spending at the Burrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, this one took a bit longer than planned. I had a lot of things to do with work, family and friends, so I haven't had a lot of time to write. Good thing is that I'm on holiday now! Should be able to get a few chapters written within the next two weeks. The next one, chapter 9, will especially be worth the wait, I promise ;-) 
> 
> Thanks again to everyone who's left me kudos and comments - it's so incredible, and I'm so grateful <3


	9. The Wedding

Christmas morning found Harry and Draco sitting beside the fireplace in Draco’s living room. Harry had only just conjured Draco’s Christmas present into the room, asking Draco to keep his eyes closed as he sat in down in front of him. 

“Okay, you can look now.” 

Harry looked expectantly at Draco, as the other boy opened his eyes and stared at the massive box in front of him. 

“Harry,” he croaked. “Is that…?” 

Harry smiled, feeling very pleased with himself. “Yup. It’s a television. Now you have your very own.” 

Draco got to his feet and tore away the Christmas wrappings, revealing a box with a picture of a huge, black and very modern looking television on the front. 

Draco didn’t speak for a long time. He stroked the box with his hand, looking deep in thought. Harry suddenly felt nervous. Perhaps Draco didn’t like his present. Maybe it was a bit too much, giving him something that expensive. Harry looked down at his own present from Draco, which he had opened earlier that morning; a fancy set of chef knives, and felt a bit stupid. 

“You can return it if you don’t like it,” he said, trying to make his voice sound casual. “It’s no big deal, I still got the receipt.” 

Draco slowly turned his head to look at Harry. “No, no, it’s great. I really love it.” Draco sounded genuinely pleased, but Harry could tell there was something else hidden beneath his voice. 

“Draco, what’s wrong? You can tell me, I won’t get mad.” 

Draco shrugged, smiling apologetically. “It’s just… I like watching television at your place. You know, our casual Friday ritual. I guess I’ll just miss it a lot.” He stared intensely at the television, avoiding Harry’s eyes. 

Harry felt relieve flood through him, and he couldn’t help laughing out loud. 

“Well, I’m glad you’re finding it funny,” Draco said, a note of hurt in his voice. “I know I’m being stupid.” 

Harry got up and gave Draco a small punch on the arm. “Come off it! You’re not being stupid. I just hadn’t thought about it like that. I didn’t give you the television so that we would give up our Friday nights; now we can just… take turns in being the host.” He smiled at Draco, who had finally raised his head to look at Harry. Draco was smiling too. 

“In that case, it’s the best present I could ever think of,” Draco said, laughing.

*

Draco returned to his own house a few hours later to change his clothes. Harry had arranged with him to grab a beer at a Muggle pub nearby later that evening, and wanted to have a quick shower before he left.

Returning from the bathroom, Harry went into the kitchen to grab a glass of water. As he stood in front of the fridge, his eyes fell on the wedding invitation from Dudley. Harry sighed, suddenly remembering that he hadn’t yet replied. 

He still didn’t know what to do with the invitation. He wasn’t sure he wanted to go at all, and especially not without anyone to accompanying him. As Harry grabbed the water jug, a thought suddenly hit him like a stroke of lightening. Perhaps he didn’t have to go alone after all. Smiling to himself, Harry poured water into a glass and drank deeply.

*

“I had no idea Muggle pubs were this crowded,” Draco said, squirming on his seat as someone bumped into his shoulder for the third time that evening. “I mean, there must be a hundred of them – how come it seems like everyone chose to be at this one tonight?”

“It’s because it’s Christmas,” Harry said, looking at Draco over the rim of his pint. “It’s still better than being at The Leaky Cauldron. People would be goggling at us the whole night.” 

Draco shrugged. “I guess. I’d just wish I’d chosen to wear something lighter. It’s really hot in here.”

Harry sneaked a glance at Draco’s Muggle clothes. They looked quite all right to him. Draco was wearing a pair of simple dark jeans and a black shirt. Harry had only seen Draco in Muggle clothes on very few occasions. He found that he liked the look a lot. 

“Don’t worry, you look fine,” Harry said, suddenly feeling a bit hot himself. 

“Sorry, what?” Draco shouted. A fresh crowd of drunk Muggles had just squeezed into the pub, singing Christmas carols from the top of their lungs. 

“I said, you look good!” Harry shouted, immediately regretting his choice of words. “Er, I mean…”  
Draco raised an eyebrow and gave Harry a brilliant smirk. “You don’t look too bad yourself.” 

Harry blushed. _You’re doing it again_ , he thought to himself angrily. _Stop flirting with Draco!_

He took a large sip of his beer and leaned forward a bit in his seat. 

“Draco, there’s actually something I’ve been wanting to ask you. Remember my cousin’s wedding?” 

Draco tilted his head, looking puzzled. “Yeah, sure. Have you replied yet? Because I really think you should, you need,- “

“I’d like you to come with me,” Harry said very quickly, having a vivid Dejá Vu of himself asking Cho to the Yule Ball four years ago. 

Draco put down his beer very slowly. He licked his lips and looked up at Harry, frowning. “What, you mean like, er…?” 

“Just as friends!” Harry said quickly, cutting Draco off. 

“Oh, right. Of course. Friends.” Draco cleared his throat, looking embarrassed. It was a weird look on him, but Harry found it uncommonly endearing. 

“So…? Will you come?” Harry held his breath, watching Draco closely. 

Draco’s face relaxed and he gave Harry a small smile. “Sure. Why not.” 

Harry grinned and held out his beer. “Cheers to that!” 

 

Five beers later, Harry was starting to feel slightly drunk. He was dimly aware that he had started to slur, and that he was smiling quite a lot. Draco too was looking tipsy; his grey eyes were very bright and his hair more tousled than usual. 

Harry had just told Draco about that time at Hogwarts, when he barely escaped being caught out of bed by Snape after he had been trying to solve the egg’s clue. 

“… and then Snape looks at the map, and it starts to insult him, and I’m just sitting there, my leg caught on the step.” Harry explained, his eyes tearing up from laughter. 

Draco was laughing too. He was doubled over, one hand holding on to his beer. “Shit, Harry, I would have loved to see that. I bet Snape was completely outraged!” 

“Oh, he was!” Harry said, “He said...“ 

But Harry didn’t get to tell Draco what Snape had said. A shadow was looming over their table, and they both stopped laughing at once. Harry looked up. 

A tall, skinny guy dressed in Muggle clothes was standing looking down at them, a nasty smile spreading on his lips. 

“Doesn’t this look cosy?” the guy drawled, and Harry immediately knew who he was. 

“Hello, Theo.” Draco said, in a cold voice. 

“Mind if I sit with you?” Without waiting for a reply, Theodore Nott slid into the booth beside Draco. 

“So? What are we drinking?” Nott said, looking from Harry to Draco. 

“What are you doing here?” Draco asked through gritted teeth. 

Nott shrugged casually. I came with a group of muggle friends of mine. I work in the Muggle Liaison’s Office, remember?” 

Harry thought that sounded quite implausible, and reminded himself to ask Mr. Weasley next time he saw him. 

“So, Draco… long time no see?” Harry’s hand tensed around his glass, as Nott put an arm around Draco’s shoulder. “Actually, I think I’ll just have a bit of your drink, Draco.” Nott took Draco’s beer and drank from it. 

As he lowered it to the table, he noticed Harry staring angrily at him. “Oh, don’t worry, Potter. Draco and I used to share a lot more than that, didn’t we Draco?” Nott said, winking at Draco. 

Draco shrugged out of Nott’s grip and moved to make more space between them. “Shut up, Theo,” he said. 

“Wait, am I interrupting something here?” Nott said in mock bewilderment. “Are you two on a date, or something?”

Harry felt his face burn. Draco had closed his eyes, looking like he was praying for patience. 

“No, we are not on a date, Nott,” Harry said, his voice calm but fierce. “But you _are_ interrupting something. Like, two friends having a beer.” 

Draco caught Harry’s eyes and smiled. Nott looked back and forth between them again. “Yeah right. I’ve seen that face on you before, Draco. Friends, my arse. I know exactly what you’re really thinking right now.” 

Draco’s head snapped around. He glared at Nott, his face white with fury. “The fuck you don’t! And I thought I told you to _shut up?_ ” 

“Has he told you yet, Harry?” Nott said, leaning over the table. “About why he never really wanted to be with me, even though I was more than willing?” 

Draco stood up and pulled out his wand. _“Get the hell away from us, Nott,”_ he sneered, his face screwed up with anger. 

“Draco, _sit down_ ”, Harry hissed. “This is a Muggle place, remember? You can’t do magic, or there’re going to be serious consequences.” 

Draco glared at Nott for a few more seconds. Then he sat down, carefully tugging away his wand. 

“Well, Draco… I thought I was doing you a favour, contacting that guy from The Daily Prophet. I knew you could use the publicity. Maybe I shouldn’t have been so generous.” 

Harry shared a shocked glance with Draco. They both stared at Nott incredulously. 

“Are you saying, _you_ were behind that article?” Draco said, obviously shaken. 

Nott shrugged and had another sip from Draco’s beer. “Sure. I saw the two of you together back in November. Thought something was probably going on. You know, they pay you good money for a story like that.” 

“Harry, please take away my wand before I curse this little shit to the darkest corner of Hell,” Draco said, looking disgustedly at Nott. 

Harry leaned forward, looking straight into Nott’s gloating face. “I don’t know, Draco. I think I might beat you to it.” He took out his wand underneath the table and pointed it directly at Nott’s crotch. “What do you wish to lose first? Your balls or your prick? Oh, wait a minute,” he sneered. “You’re already a prickless piece of scum.” 

The smug smile Nott had been wearing only seconds ago was now turning into apprehension. He looked down at the place where Harry’s hand was resting underneath the table and gulped. 

“Listen, there’s no need to get overexcited, Potter. Perhaps the three of us can strike a deal.” 

Draco crossed his arms. “I don’t really think you’re in any position to be making deals, Theo.” 

Harry smirked at this.

“Well, I don’t know. I have another interview coming up, and who knows what I might tell them about the good old days at Hogwarts.” Nott quirked an eyebrow, looking triumphant at Draco. 

Draco’s face turned pale. “You wouldn’t,” he whispered. 

“Oh, I would,” Nott said. “But if you let me leave this place with my balls and prick intact, I might keep the topic on grades and stuff, and not on secret… love stories.” 

Harry poked his wand into the soft spot above Nott’s navel. “You’re a bastard, Nott. You can forget about any deals; I don’t care what you might say, no secrets are worth this bullshit.” 

To his surprise, Draco put his own hand under the table and grabbed Harry’s wand, pushing it backwards. “Let him go, Harry.” Draco’s voice was calm but pleading. “It’s not worth it. Just… let him go.” 

“But…?” Harry looked at Draco, taken aback. 

Nott immediately seized the moment and scrambled out of the booth. “Right. Good call, Draco. I promise I won’t spill. Enjoy your evening together, I won’t bother you anymore.” And with those words, Nott disappeared into the crowd. 

Harry tucked his wand away and turned to look at Draco. The Slyhtering looked thoughtful, his fingers playing with a button on his shirt. 

“What the hell was that about?” Harry asked frustrated. “Why are you letting him blackmailing you? What does he know that’s so important to you?” 

Draco wasn’t meeting Harry’s eyes. “It’s… nothing. Don’t worry about it.” 

“It must be something pretty important if he can use it against you,” Harry pushed. “Are you sure you can’t tell me?” 

Draco looked up at Harry, his eyes troubled. “No. I’m sorry, Harry, but I can’t. At least, not right now.” 

Harry felt a spark of disappointment. He had thought he and Draco could tell each other everything. Apparently, he’d been wrong. 

“All right. I’ll let it go. Do you… want another beer or…?” 

Draco shook his head and grabbed his coat. “No. Let’s go home.” 

They walked back to their respective houses in silence.

*

The next few months flew by in their usual manner. Harry and Draco continued their weekly routines consisting of shopping trips, movie nights and experimental dinners at Draco’s place without any of them mentioning those strange moments that happened around Christmas.

Harry was quite happy with his life, but he couldn’t help but feeling a certain restlessness inside him. He couldn’t exactly define the feeling, but he certainly had a hard time concentrating on even small and insignificant things, such as what to buy from the shops, and promising to firecall Ron and Hermione on several occasions. He spent many sleepless nights trying to figure out what was bothering him, but he simply couldn’t find a reasonable explanation. 

He definitely wasn’t _lonely_. That wasn’t the cause of his unease. He had his friends, including Draco, whom he got to see almost every day. He wasn’t being threatened by anyone, if you put aside The Daily Prophet, which was still busy printing articles concerning his so-called relationship with Draco. The stories had continued since that night Nott showed up in the Muggle pub, but at least Nott had kept his promise: None of the stories seemed to come directly from him, and none of them concerned their time at Hogwarts. Harry, however, found he didn’t care anyway. He had stopped reading that garbage long ago and knew his friends were doing the same. 

For a few weeks, Harry had thought that his feeling of restlessness was a lot less noticeable, when he was with Draco. However, now it seems as if being with Draco only made it worse.

It wasn’t because he was tired of Draco; he enjoyed their time together immensely. Still, it was as if something had broken between them. Harry would sometimes catch Draco looking at him almost tormented, but the blond always managed to shrug it off as nothing important. Harry didn’t know what was wrong with Draco, but it made him feel anxious. The last thing he wanted was to lose his friendship, but at the same time, he couldn’t shake the feeling that Draco was keeping something very important from him, and it made Harry question the strength of their friendship. 

Finally, April arrived, and along with it the day of Dudley’s wedding. 

On the Saturday before April 20th, Harry and Draco went out to a fancy Muggle tailor and had their measurements taken for morning coats. At first Draco complained about the selection of fabric, which he found was lacking in silk, but he was silenced immediately, when the employee turned out to be the very same tailor who provided the Muggle Prime Minister with new suits. After that Draco seemed quite happy with everything he was presented with.

On the morning of the 20th, Harry put on his morning coat; tried but failed to comb his hair, and went next door to get Draco. 

Draco swung the door open for Harry, looking very stressed and struggling with his tie. 

“I don’t know why Muggles have to wear such elaborate clothing for a wedding,” he muttered, releasing the tie and letting Harry take over. “I mean, I guess the look is OK, but it’s a bit much, don’t you think?”

Harry looked Draco up and down in the mirror, as he worked on Draco’s tie. In his opinion, Draco looked like he could have fitted right in on the cover of some Wedding Magazine as a male model posing in the newest wedding fashion. The dark-grey morning coat was fitted impeccably, and his grey trousers were very tight, emphasising Draco’s slim but firm legs. Draco put a hand through his hair, making it look very neat and stylish as he did so. His grey eyes were surveying Harry expectantly. 

Harry coughed and grabbed the present he had gotten for Dudley and Elinor. 

“Er, I think you’re pretty much all set! Let’s go,” he said, hiding his blush as he turned around.

*

The wedding was going to take place in a church near Betchworth, with the reception being held at a large nearby hotel.

Harry and Draco Apparated to a field a mile outside the church, and walked the rest of way. It was a sunny spring day, and the air was mild. Birds were chirping happily from the row of trees leading to the grey church, which was perched on the top of a small hill. 

They arrived just in time for the ceremony, and sat together at the back where they wouldn’t be seen by anyone. Harry wanted to leave his reunion with the Dursleys for as long as possible. Or at least until the reception. 

The organ started playing, and Harry spotted Dudley standing up at the altar, looking nervous but happy. The large doors opened, and Elinor stepped into the church, looking very beautiful in a tight, white mermaid-shaped wedding dress and veil. When she reached Dudley, she sent him a radiant smile and took his hand. _Well done, Dudley_ , Harry thought, as the priest stepped forward and the ceremony began.

*

“I can’t believe how _long_ that ceremony was,” Draco said, as they exited the church almost an hour later. “I mean, it’s a lot less complicated in the Wizarding community, if you ask me.”

“I know,” said Harry, straightening his tie. “I went to Bill and Fleur’s wedding last year, and it was a lot more fun. Well, it was until we had to escape the Death Eaters in the middle of it, that is.” 

Draco sent Harry an apologetic smile. “Well, yes. I believe a lot of happy days were ruined because of them… because of us.” 

Harry stopped and stared at Draco. “Stop saying that, you were never one of them!”

Draco raised an eyebrow. 

“Well at least not like that. Oh, you know what I mean,” Harry said irritatedly. Draco smiled that small, almost secret smile that Harry had gotten to like so much. “Thanks,” he said, simply. 

Harry returned the smile, and the two of them started to leave the church and followed the many people, who were now walking down the path leading to the hotel where the reception and party were to take place. 

As they got nearer, they saw a large group of people waiting outside the entrance, all properly and smartly dressed, the women wearing fancy hats and holding glasses of champagne. 

“Do you know any of these people,” Draco asked, looking around at the crowd of wedding guests. 

“Not really. Well, except from Dudley and my aunt and uncle… oh, I don’t believe it… there’s aunt Marge.” 

Harry pointed to the broad woman standing nearest the big, wooden church doors. She was smoking a cigar whilst holding on to the leashes of three, large bulldogs. 

“She’s the one who got blown up, isn’t she,” Draco whispered.

Harry nodded. He caught Draco’s eyes, and they both smirked. 

“We should probably go and say hi,” Harry sighed. 

They pushed their way to where Aunt Marge was standing. Harry cleared his throat. 

“Er, hello, Aunt Marge, how are you?” 

Aunt Marge had been busy scolding one her dogs. She looked up at the two of them, her eyes narrowed. “Excuse me,” she barked, “I don’t think I know… oh. It’s _you_.” She stared at Harry, her brain obviously trying to work out the last time she had seen him, but Harry knew the Ministry of Magic had modified her brain to forget about the blowing-up incident. 

“You have… grown,” Marge ended up saying, looking Harry up and down, but obviously not finding anything she could torment him about. 

Draco stepped forward, held out his hand and gave Marge a charming smile. “Miss. Dursley – _very_ nice to meet you. You look absolutely lovely.” 

Harry hid a grin behind his hand, as Aunt Marge shook Draco’s hand, looking completely baffled. 

“I… er, thank you, young man,” Aunt Marge babbled. “Forgive me, who are you, again?” 

“Oh, I’m a friend of Harry’s,” Draco said. “He most kindly invited me today, so that I would have the chance of meeting his… wonderful family.” Draco said the last part with a small quirk of the mouth. “Harry has told me so much about you.” 

Harry noticed Aunt Marge’s eyes flicker. He knew, she was wondering exactly how much Harry might have told Draco about his life with the Dursleys. 

“Er… Vernon!” Marge called distractedly through the crowd, and somehow managed to scoop up Uncle Vernon from thin air. “Vernon, look who’s decided to show up at Dudder’s wedding. It’s the Potter-boy.” 

Uncle Vernon was as bulgy as ever, wearing a black suit which made him look oddly like Hardy from the Muggle show _Laurel & Hardy_, Harry thought. His uncle turned around and looked at the two of them; a stunned expression on his face. “Harry... how, er, nice to see you. We didn’t think you would actually come today.” Uncle Vernon turned to Draco. 

“And this must be the friend Dudley told us about. Er, welcome.” Uncle Vernon’s eyes flicked to Draco’s pocket, apparently looking for any hint of a wand. 

“Don’t worry, our wands are very safely hidden,” Harry said with a sigh. “We don’t plan on using them, if that’s what you’re afraid of.” 

Uncle Vernon puffed out his chest, his face reddening. “I certainly would hope not!” he barked. “This is Dudders big day, and I won’t let anyone, at least your lot, do anything to ruin it!”

Harry opened his mouth to argue, but Draco raised a hand and looked straight into Uncle Vernon’s face. “My good man, I think you need to remember where we are. This a wedding, and no place to start an argument. I suggest you show us where to get a drink, and we’ll speak of this no more.” 

Harry and Uncle Vernon both blinked. Uncle Vernon suddenly looked very shifty, almost as if he was embarrassed about his own outburst. 

Harry felt a surge of pride as he looked at Draco standing there, looking extremely handsome and very much in control of the situation. He could not remember anyone except Dumbledore ever making Uncle Vernon look so flustered. 

“Er, yes… certainly. If you will just follow me,” Uncle Vernon said, leading Draco and Harry towards a long table containing row after row of glasses filled to the brim with sparkly champagne. 

Draco took two glasses and handed one of them to Harry. “Cheers.” They clinked their glassed and smiled at each other. Harry noticed that Draco held his gaze a lot longer than usual and felt his cheeks burn. 

“Oy, Harry! _Harry_!” 

Harry spun around. Dudley was walking up to them arm in arm with his bride. They were both smiling happily. 

“Harry – meet Elinor. My _wife_ ,” Dudley beamed. Harry smiled at Elinor and shook her hand. “Nice to meet you – and congratulations to both of you,” he said, shifting his glass to the other hand, so that he could grab Draco’s upper arm and pull him forwards. “This is my friend Draco, I wrote you about.” 

Dudley grinned and shook hands with Draco. “I’m so glad you came,” Dudley said, sounding serious. “I want you to know that I’ve always considered you family, no matter what else you might think. It was very important for me that you’d be here today.” 

Harry felt quite touched at Dudley’s words. The Dudley standing before him was so different from the one he’d known growing up. Something told Harry, Elinor might be part of the reason. 

“Well, I’m very happy for both of you. You seem to really fit each other.” 

Elinor beamed. “Dudley is fantastic. The best man, I’ve ever met,” she said, sliding an arm around Dudley’s vast waist. 

“The two of you look really great together too,” Elinor said, looking from Harry to Draco. “How long have you been a couple?” 

“Oh, er… “Harry said, flushing wildly now. “We’re not…” 

“We’re just friends,” Draco interjected, looking calmly at Elinor. 

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” Elinor said, covering her mouth with her hand. “I thought Dudley said…” 

“My bad. I just thought… after finding that letter in your old room, and everything.” Dudley looked at Draco, frowning slightly. 

“What letter?” Harry asked. 

“Er…” Harry noticed Dudley looking sideways at Draco, his cheeks reddening. Draco gave Dudley a sharp glare, then turned his face away, not looking at Harry. 

“Nothing. Just a misunderstanding,” Dudley said. “Look, I think dinner’s about to be served – let’s go find your parents, Elinor!” 

The two of them left through the large doors, leaving Harry feeling both baffled and confused.

“What was that all about, Draco?” Harry hissed the moment they were alone. “Do you know anything about that letter, Dudley was talking about?” 

Draco looked troubled. He bent down to tie his shoe laces, obviously trying to prolong the moment when he would eventually have to answer Harry’s questions. When he got back up, he sighed deeply and drew a hand through his hair, smoothing it back into its immaculate position. 

“No. I don’t know anything about any letter. Let’s follow everyone inside, shall we?” He started to stride towards the entrance, Harry following close behind. 

“But, why did he look at you, then? Seriously, there’s something really odd going on, and you won’t bloody speak to me about it!” 

The last words came out almost as a shout, and Draco stopped and turned around. 

“Harry…” It almost sounded like a plea. 

“I’m sorry. I promise I will tell you… eventually. But, for now – can we just… go inside and eat? What I have to say is not something I can say here, anyway.” 

Harry felt his anger evaporate as he considered Draco’s anxious face. “All right, then.” 

They walked into the large dining room. It was beautifully decorated with round tables all covered with white, silver and expensive looking glasses and cutlery. 

Harry found his seat next to Draco’s. They were sitting among a group of people, Harry had never seen before.

“Must be Elinor’s friends, or something,” Harry whispered to Draco. 

Elinor’s friends were a friendly lot, and Harry found himself beginning to enjoy the evening, as he ate and drank his way through the many courses of food and wine. Everyone seemed very cheerful, and there were several amusing toasts held by Dudley and Elinor’s respective relatives. Draco looked a lot happier too. He was speaking to one of Elinor’s old school mates; a tall and very handsome guy with dark-brown hair and blue eyes. Harry looked at the two of them, as he sipped his red wine, feeling a twinge of annoyance. That was until Draco turned at gave Harry a small wink, and Harry relaxed back into his chair; thinking that he should probably liberate Draco from that chatty friend of Elinor’s. 

Dessert had only just been served when Uncle Vernon stood up at the high table where Dudley and Elinor were sitting, and cleared his throat. 

“Dear friends and family – dear Dudley and Elinor. Petunia and I are very happy to be sitting here today among our newly joined families. Dudley, you could not have chosen a more wonderful girl to pass on our family name, and to bring such joy into our family.” Uncle Vernon raised his glass to Elinor, who mirrored his gesture, smiling at the room at large. 

“Dudley, as our only son, you have made your mother and I extremely proud. We cannot even begin to describe how many boxing trophies you have brought home during the last couple of years, and your school records have always been excellent and to the point.” Uncle Vernon looked smugly around the room, his glass still raised. 

Harry couldn’t help snickering into his glass as he thought about Dudley’s so called ‘perfect records’. As far as he was concerned, Dudley had never been the brightest student, let alone the most well-behaved.

“Looking at you now, my boy, I feel reminiscent about our life together. You, me and Petunia have always been The Three Musketeers. We have always stuck together; always been a close-nit family, the three of us. All those happy days and great times, we’ve spent together, travelling, going to the zoo etc. all those things, we will think about happily, when it’s just going to be me and Petunia in our large and newly renovated house,” Uncle Vernon droned on. 

From out of the corner of his eyes, Harry noticed Draco putting down his glass. His knuckles resting on the glass were white, his face fixed intently on Uncle Vernon. 

“We only had one child,” continued Uncle Vernon, “But your mother and I never felt like we needed more than you. You alone, have been our happiness and pride. Congratulations, my son. Now, let’s all raise our glasses…” 

Everyone in the room stood up, their glasses raised. Aunt Petunia was sobbing loudly into her handkerchief. Everyone drank. Then the room burst into applause, and Uncle Vernon sat down again, looking as smug as ever, and giving Elinor’s father a haughty glare. 

Everyone sat down. Everyone except Draco. Draco was still standing. He was staring straight at Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia. 

A slow mutter had started to spread among the guests. All eyes rested upon Draco. 

“Mr. Vernon. What a lovely speech,” Draco spoke loudly, nodding politely at Uncle Vernon. The muttering stopped abruptly. “My apologies, I don’t believe many of you know me. My name is Draco Malfoy, and I’m a friend of Harry Potter.” Draco gestured to Harry, who was gaping at Draco, completely frozen. 

“Most of you probably don’t know this, but Harry is Dudley’s cousin. His mother and father died, when he was just a small child, and he was raised by the Dursleys.” A faint mutter had risen again. Harry saw Uncle Vernon hissing something into Aunt Petunia’s ear. 

“I wanted you to know this, because it’s important that you know that Harry is a part of this family too. You might never have met him; you may even have heard rumours about him – believe me when I say that they’re _not_ true. Harry is nothing but brave and kind. He’s generous and forgiving. And he’s the best person, I know. Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, I’m sorry you missed the opportunity to get to know him as I do, and I hope that one day, you may try and make amends.”

Draco raised his glass in one final salute, and sat down, drinking heavily. A scattered applause could be heard from around the tables. Up at the high table, a purple faced Uncle Vernon was scrambling out of his chair, his eyes squinting murderously at Draco. 

Harry grabbed Draco’s upper arm and leaned forward to whisper in his ear. “I think we’d better get out of here.” 

They both made polite apologies to Elinor’s friends around the table, and got up from their seats, exiting through the large doors and walking into the huge lawn at the back of the hotel. 

The sun was setting, and there was a cool breeze in the air. It was a beautiful evening. Harry looked at Draco cautiously. 

“Thanks for doing that back there. You didn’t have to.” 

Draco was standing a few feet away, looking out over the green fields. “Of course I did. They were being complete bastards towards you,” he said. “They acted as if you don’t exist. You lived with them for 17 years, for Merlin’s sake!”

Silence fell. Harry scraped his feet against the gravel. His heart was beating very fast, and he suddenly felt the urge to turn around and run, before he would ask the thing he had been wanting to ask all evening. 

“Draco… I need to know, do you know anything about that letter, Dudley was talking about?" 

Draco turned his head to look at Harry. 

“What are you talking about?”

Harry could feel himself blushing, and looked away; concentrating on a bird taking off from a nearby tree. 

“That night in my kitchen, the first time we’d been out shopping together… you said you liked someone. That you _still_ like someone. Does it have something to do with the letter?” 

The sun disappeared behind the fields, and Draco’s face was partly left in darkness, making it hard for Harry to read his expression. He moved closer. 

“Nott indicated that you were in love with someone back at Hogwarts. Who… was it, Draco?” 

“Harry…” Draco’s voice sounded weak. Almost desperate.

Harry took another step closer. He could see Draco’s face now. His grey eyes were wide and apprehensive. But there was something else too. _Hope_ , buried away behind grey clouds. 

Draco licked his lips nervously. Then he spoke, his voice gentle. 

“I think, you already know, Harry.” 

“I want to hear you say it. Hell, I need to hear you say it,” Harry said, forcefully. He was standing right in front of Draco now, their noses almost touching. 

Draco took a deep breath, his voice shaking. Then he opened his eyes and looked directly at Harry, and Harry felt his heart skip a beat.

“ _It's you_ ,” he said in one breath, moving even closer to Harry. One of his hands reached up hesitently to cup Harry’s cheek, looking at him with such a warm expression, Harry felt his stomach do a somersault. 

“For fucks sake, of _course_ it’s you, it’s always been you. I’ve been in love with you ever since I fucking saw you the first time!” Draco suddenly leaned in, making as to kiss Harry, but Harry, who's brain was buzzing lightly, took a sudden step back, causing Draco to stumble. 

“But… I just can’t understand how that’s possible, Draco. You _hated_ me. We hated each other – just look at all the things you did?" Harry drew a long, shuddering breath. "How could you have been in love with me and do the things you _did_?” 

Draco ran a trembling hand through his hair, looking exasperated. “Don’t you think I regret that more than anything?" he spat. "I didn’t know how to react when I realised that I liked you. You were… a boy, and you rejected me. It was… tough. I’m not proud of what I did, and I _hated_ myself every time I insulted you or your friends. I didn’t _want_ to do it, but I didn’t know what else to do either. It was the only way to get your attention, and it was the only way to hide what I truly felt. I know it sounds completely unbelievable, and I’m _sorry_ , Harry, but don’t, for one second, dismiss the fact that I’ve always, _always_ been in love with you!” 

Draco’s voice trailed off. He was panting slightly, looking at Harry with an almost haunted expression. When he spoke again, his voice was soft, almost a whisper.

“I know I could never have you. I know it was a foolish of me to believe you would ever feel the same. I wrote you this letter, back in sixth year, just after Dumbledore died. I wanted you to know how sorry I was. How much I admired you, and… how I really felt about you. I poured my heart out! It must have ended up at the Dursley’s, however, and I guess you never found it.” Draco had been pacing back and forwards as he spoke, but now he stopped. 

“Being your friend has been enough. Until now. Until recently, when I started to get the feeling that perhaps… just perhaps, you might be feeling something else too. Am I wrong?” 

Harry considered Draco’s eyes, unable to move. He felt completely overwhelmed, not knowing what to think or believe. His heart was beating so fast, he felt faint. His brain was buzzing, but yet, there was, however, one massive thought going through Harry’s mind repeatedly. _No. You are not wrong. You are most definitely not wrong._

Draco took a hesitant step closer towards Harry. 

“Harry… please, I need to, - “

“So _that's_ where you’re hiding!” Uncle Vernon’s voice boomed loudly from behind them. They both spun around. Harry’s uncle was striding towards them, a mad, almost deranged expression on his face, Aunt Petunia close at his heels. 

“How dare you bring that… that horrible, ill-mannered friend of yours, and let him ruin Dudley’s wedding!?” He glared nastily at Draco. “Now, you can tell your… your _snake_ of a friend that he’s no longer welcome, and that he can bloody well go and apologise to all of our guests. I’ve already told everyone that Mr. Malfoy here is a friend of yours from St. Brutus’s Secure Centre for Incurably Criminal Boys, and that they shouldn’t believe a thing he said in that… that _speech_ of his.” Uncle Vernon was breathing heavily, his face purple. 

Harry shook his head. This was all too much. Draco telling him that he was in love with him, and Uncle Vernon once again making him feel like a nasty little insect which could easily be squashed. 

“You know what, Uncle?” Harry said, his voice shaking with anger. “You’ve managed to ruin so many important moments of my life, I can hardly count them. Most of my birthdays, you either ignored me or locked me in my cupboard. When my Godfather died, you didn’t care, and you lied to me about my parent’s death throughout my childhood. Now, Draco has told me something very, very significant, and once again you have the indecency to ruin it.” He looked over Uncle Vernon’s shoulder at Aunt Petunia. 

“I feel sorry for you. I don’t think you were always like this, Petunia, but you married a bully. I’m sorry if I ruined Dudley’s big day - I didn’t mean to. But what Draco said in his speech was completely true, and you know it. Own up to it.” 

Aunt Petunia opened her mouth. Then closed it again. She looked pleadingly at Harry. 

“No need to say anything,” Harry said, rolling his eyes. “I think I finally get it.”

He turned to look at Draco. “I want to go home now. Want to join me?” 

“Of course I will,” Draco said forcefully. He went to stand beside Harry, and grabbed his wrist. 

“Tell Dudley good luck from me,” Harry said. Then he pulled sharply at Draco’s wrist and they Disapparated together.

*

They reappeared inside Harry’s living room. Harry stumbled and nearly fell into the table, but was caught by Draco at the last second.

Harry slowly got to his feet. Without looking at Draco, he shook out of his morning coat and started to loosen his tie. 

Draco was standing in the other end of the room. He too took off his morning coat and folded it carefully over the back of a chair. Then he just stood there, hands in his pockets and looked at Harry.

None of them spoke. Harry’s mind was still reeling with everything that had happened that evening. For some reason, he couldn’t meet Draco’s eyes. He was sure there was a lot more to say, but he wasn’t sure he was ready for it. 

He went for what he knew. 

“So, er… would like some tea, or… do you want to watch a movie, or something...?” His voice trailed off and he turned his head an inch to look at Draco 

Draco hadn't moved. He was still looking at Harry intently. 

“Is that really what you want, Harry?”. 

Harry looked down at his finely polished shoes, hesitating. It would be so _easy_ to just pretend nothing paramount had happened between them tonight. Going back to old routines was effortless. Undemanding. Going forwards to… whatever this was, was terrifying. 

But he couldn’t. He wouldn’t go back. 

“No… that’s not what I want,” Harry whispered, still looking at his shoes. 

He could hear Draco let out a long, shaky breath. 

“I’ve told you everything, Harry. Now it’s your turn to tell me something; why did it matter to you, whether Nott still had feelings for me?” 

Harry was transported back to that Christmas evening, standing in the middle of Diagon Alley. 

_“What if he does?”_

Harry raised his chin and gathered his very last ounce of courage. His eyes met Draco’s.

“It mattered, because I was afraid there would be a chance that the two of you would get back together,” he said, his heart racing. 

“You know that Nott and I were never really together,” Draco said simply. 

“I was still jealous.” Harry’s eyes never left Draco’s. 

“And now?” Draco whispered and made a gesture with his hand. “Harry... there’s nowhere to run, no one to interrupt us this time… what do you feel now?”

Harry looked at Draco’s flushed and hopeful face and everything – every single glance, touch and restless feeling during the last six months seemed to fall into place, and Harry finally _knew_. 

“I feel…” Harry said, slightly breathless, “I feel like I don’t want to talk anymore.” 

Then, without any hesitation, he strode across the room, grabbed Draco’s face between his hands and kissed him. 

For a quarter of a second, Draco seemed too shocked to react. Then he uttered a small whimper and grabbed Harry’s hair, kissing Harry back with a passion that almost knocked them over. Harry pressed himself against Draco, and opened his mouth, deepening the kiss. He could taste wine and cake on Draco’s tongue, and his nose was full of the scent of Draco’s expensive cologne. His brain felt fuzzy as he kissed Draco hungrily; only slightly conscious of the fact that he was kissing a man for the first time. He found that it didn’t matter. All he wanted to do was to kiss Draco – to never stop kissing Draco. His hands slid below Draco’s waist, and his shaky fingers grabbed the hem of Draco’s shirt, yanking it upwards so that he could run his hands over Draco’s smooth chest. 

“I can’t believe this is happening…” Draco murmured against Harry’s lips. His hands had been tangled in Harry’s hair, but he let them drop to cup Harry’s face between his hands instead. He stared into Harry’s eyes for a long moment, then kissed Harry again, softly this time. “You have no _fucking_ idea, how much I’ve wanted this to happen,” Draco said, his voice husky. “I thought it never would.” 

Harry sighed and dropped his head to let it rest on Draco’s shoulder. “Shut up, Draco,” he whispered. 

Draco chuckled and then kissed Harry again, and this time it was with a fierceness that sent a wave of fire through Harry’s body. He could feel himself grow painfully hard, and he pushed himself against Draco, feeling the same hardness underneath Draco’s tailored pants. A flicker of fear shot through him, but his desire to feel Draco against him was overpowering. 

Draco pushed Harry backwards gently, nudging him against the doorframe between the living room and the kitchen. 

Harry was trembling. He fumbled with Draco’s belt, and finally managed to open the clasp. Draco drew a shuddering breath and kissed Harry deeply. When they finally came back for air, Harry looked into Draco’s eyes. They were dark with lust, and Harry knew his probably looked the same. 

“I have no idea what I’m doing,” he whispered. 

“Please tell me you’re talking about sex and not me,” Draco said, pressing small kisses against Harry’s neck. 

“To be honest, both,” Harry said, gasping with pleasure. Draco froze and drew back a little, his eyebrows raised, 

“No, no – don’t get me wrong, I really, _really_ want you, it’s just… you have a lot more experience in this area than me,” he said, running his hands through Draco’s soft hair. “You have to… you know.” 

Draco smiled and gave Harry a long, slow kiss which left Harry quite breathless and harder than ever. 

“I think, I’m going to take you upstairs now,” Draco muttered. “I want to do this properly, and not half between the kitchen and living room.” 

He took Harry’s hand, and let him up the stairs. 

 

*

 

As Draco slowly undressed Harry in the bedroom, before crawling on top of him on the bed, Harry noticed the stars outside the window. They were shining brightly on a cloudless, April night. He closed his eyes and arched his back, letting himself be lost in the pleasure and feeling of exalted happiness Draco was giving him. 

_All I was waiting for, was you,_ Harry thought.

Then everything erupted into fireworks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right - romance is finally in the air! Hurray! For all of you who might be expecting some explicit sex-scenes, I have to disappoint you. I just can't do them. It has to be sort of implied instead. 
> 
> Thanks again to everyone who's left me comments and kudos - you guys are amazing! Miss_Bennet, thanks for making me want to keep writing; your encouragement is outstanding, and I'm so grateful. 
> 
> This is not the end of the story - don't worry. Still more to come :-)


	10. Crashing

Sunlight was hitting Harry’s face, when he opened his eyes next morning. For a moment, he lay there, blinking against the brightness, trying to get his head around the events of yesterday. Slowly, hesitantly, he turned around. 

And looked right into Draco’s face. 

Draco was still sleeping, his expression more serene and relaxed than Harry had ever seen him. The sun was illuminating his pale skin, and Harry thought he had never seen anything quite so beautiful. 

Memories from last night came flooding back to Harry, and he felt himself grow hard again just thinking about all the things they had done. It had been… well. It had been amazing. 

And yet, Harry couldn’t help feeling a mixed sensation of pure happiness, but also blunt terror. There was no going back now. Harry had never been with a woman before sleeping with a man, and he thought he probably never would. Because Draco was… and Harry was… feeling all kinds of emotions, looking at the sleeping man beside him. 

_Well I guess that’s it_ , Harry thought. _You’re gay. Might just get used to the idea, because eventually everyone will know. Including the entire wizarding community_.

Harry covered his face with his hands and breathed deeply. 

_Oh, fuck_. He wasn’t ready for that.

He glanced back at Draco. Grey eyes were staring back at him. 

“Hi.” Draco smiled slowly. He had his hands under his cheek, and the covers had slid down to cover only his lower body. 

Harry gulped, feeling his entire body go rigid from the look Draco was giving him. 

“Hi,” he managed, forcing himself not to look away from Draco’s intense glace. For some reason, he felt embarrassed. He had never in his life woken up with someone, let alone woken up naked with someone. 

Draco reached out a hand to touch a lock of Harry’s hair. “Are you OK?” Draco’s voice was deep and lazy. But Harry swore he could hear a flicker of apprehension hidden beneath it. 

“Yeah. I am.” Harry smiled, forcing a smile on his lips.

Draco seemed to relax a bit. He scuttled closer, sneaking an arm around Harry’s waist. 

“You know, it’s okay to feel a bit weird about what happened. This is new territory for you. I’m aware of that.” 

“I don’t feel weird,” Harry lied. “I just… I feel like everything is about to change, that’s all.” 

Draco tightened his grip around Harry and drew them close together. “ _Everything_ isn’t going to change. We can still all the things we usual do, you know, have our weekly dinners, shopping trips and stuff. But now we can add other things to that list as well, like… this.” 

And then he captured Harry’s lips with his own, moving his crotch slowly against Harry’s already painful erection, making Harry let out a frustrated groan.

Draco moved to sit on top of Harry, his hand trailing down Harry’s side, finally slipping under the sheets. “And this,” Draco said, as he started to stroke him gently. 

Harry couldn’t argue with that, and so he kissed Draco hungrily, forgetting for a very blissful moment, every doubt he had.

*

However, the feeling of unease didn’t leave Harry, as Draco cooked them both breakfast down in Harry’s kitchen. He was wearing that ugly apron again, but this time he only had his boxers on underneath.

Harry sat by the kitchen table, watching Draco scramble eggs and frying bacon. Along with the apron Draco was wearing a faint but secret smile on his lips, and he kept turning his head just a fraction to look at Harry, his eyes warm and twinkling. 

_He’s happy_ , Harry thought. He scratched his stubbly chin and tried to figure out how he himself was feeling about everything. _Am I really ready for this? This, whatever it is?_

Draco turned his head slightly from the stove again and gave Harry a small wink, which immediately made Harry’s heart skip several beats. 

_There’s no denying it. You’re attracted to him. You want him. You might even… you know. But he’s also… a man._

Harry absolutely did not believe himself to be prejudiced. When it came to sexual preferences, he had no trouble with Draco being gay. Not at all. 

But, for some reason, he dreaded to have to admit it out loud himself. 

Draco put down two loaded plates of English Breakfast on the table and pushed one of them in front of Harry. Then he sat down and picked up his knife and fork. 

“Bon appetite,” Draco said, smiling. 

Harry grabbed his own fork. He fiddled around with a piece of bacon for a minute, but found that he had no real appetite. 

“You’re not eating.” 

Harry looked up. Draco was watching him, one eyebrow raised. 

“I’m… not that hungry.”

Draco put down his cutlery. “What’s wrong?” 

Harry didn’t look up from his plate. He hesitated. “Nothing,” he managed, sounding quite lamely. 

“Cut the crap, Harry.” Draco’s voice had lost all its previous cheeriness. He sounded angry now. Worried.  
“Do you regret it?” 

Harry looked up. Draco was looking at him, his eyes weary. 

“Regret what?” 

“Fuck’s sake, you know what I mean!” Draco ran a hand through his hair. “You regret sleeping with me. That’s it, isn’t it?” 

Harry opened his mouth. Then closed it. 

“I… no, that’s not entirely…” 

“Just be fucking honest with me, Potter,” Draco said, icily. “I’m a grown-up man. I can take it.” 

Harry looked into Draco’s eyes, feeling like the world’s biggest prat.  
“I don’t know,” he whispered, and immediately saw something break in Draco’s eyes. “It’s just… what if The Daily Prophet finds out?”

Draco leaned back in his chair with an exasperated sound. “Who cares about them? Why are you worrying about them right now?” 

Harry shrugged. He had a hard time meeting Draco’s eyes. “People will know if _they_ know. I just… don’t… look, I’m sorry, it’s not – “

 _“It’s not me, it’s you,”_ Draco interrupted, getting up from his chair. “Spare me the fucking clichés.”  
He ripped off the apron and flicked his wand, appearing a second later completely dressed. 

“I’m going to go home now. I’m sorry for apparently ‘corrupting your innocence’, or whatever they call it these days. Let me know, when you’ve figured out what the _fuck_ you want.” Draco strode towards the door, not looking back. 

Harry scrambled out of his chair running after him, but the door slam in his face, and Draco was gone. 

Harry stood there for a long moment, thinking how the hell he had managed to screw things up so badly.

*

Harry thought about going to Draco and apologise, he really did. However, the thought of seeing hurt and betrayal in Draco’s eyes kept him from running to Draco’s door, screaming for Draco to open and _listen_. Instead, he stayed inside all day, feeling completely ashamed and miserable.

It was around eight o’clock that evening, when he suddenly remembered that he was supposed to be at The Burrow for the usual Sunday dinner. 

Groaning, Harry tossed and turned on the couch, trying to ignore the mounting guilt which was now directed at both Draco and the Weasleys, when a bossy voice rose from the fire place. 

“Harry? Harry – are you awake?” 

Harry groaned even louder and turned his back to the fire place, hiding his face in a pillow. 

“Not NOW, Hermione!”

He could hear the scrambling noise of someone getting out of a small, confined space, and knew that Hermione had entered his living room. 

“Harry, what’s wrong? Why are you not at The Burrow? Mrs. Weasley’s worried sick.” 

Harry stayed where he was, hoping that if he only ignored Hermione long enough, she would go away. Of course, he should have known this would never happen. 

“Turn around and talk to me, Harry, or I swear, I’ll hex you right this instant.” 

Knowing that she probably would, Harry sighed heavily and shuffled around into a sitting position, glaring angrily at Hermione. 

“Good,” Hermione said calmly. “Now, tell me what’s wrong. Is it something with Draco?” 

Harry covered his face in his hands and groaned. 

“I knew it!” Hermione leaned forward in the chair opposite Harry, her face screwed up with rage. “That git did something awful to you, didn’t he? I’m going to _kill_ him!” 

Harry immediately let his hands fall from his face. “No, no, no. Draco didn’t do anything. You can’t blame anything on him.” 

Hermione leaned back again, frowning. “Then… what’s -?” 

“It’s me. I did something, really, really horrible.” He sighed, trying to avoid meeting Hermione’s persistent gaze. “I sort of… well, I gave Draco the impression that I regretted sleeping with him, which is not true! I think…” 

As soon as he had said the words, he froze. Hermione didn’t even know that he Draco as more than a friend, let alone that they had moved on to… other things. 

Silence hung in the air between them. Harry carefully lifted his eyes to look at Hermione. She looked stunned. 

“Wait, hold on a minute,” she said, holding up a hand. “You _slept_ with Draco?” 

Harry groaned again. “Well, Hermione, the things is, -“ 

“Oh, come off it, Harry, I knew the two of you had something going on, it was really quite obvious,” Hermione said dismissively. “When did it happen?” 

Harry leaned back against a pillow on the couch and rubbed his brows. “Last night. After we got back from the wedding… wait, what do you mean, ‘quite obvious’?” 

Hermione rolled her eyes. “I’ve seen the two of you flirt on more than one occasion. And that’s not counting the many times I’ve noticed Draco staring avidly at you, when you’re not looking. I just wasn’t sure if you’d picked up on it yet, but it seems you finally have.” 

Her eyes softened, and she grabbed Harry’s hand and squeezed it. 

“Look… it’s okay to be in love with another man. It’s okay to be in love with Draco. At first I thought nothing good could ever come out of your strange relationship with Malfoy, but he really _has_ changed. And you’ve changed too, since you decided to become his friend. You seem…. Happy. Why are you suddenly trying to push it all away?” 

Harry hesitated. Then his eyes met Hermione’s and he felt his throat tighten. “You think what I feel is… love?” 

Hermione cocked her head to the side and smiled. “Of course it is, Harry. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be this scared.” 

Harry let out a shaky breath. He closed his eyes and thought about Draco. 

He thought about how much he liked Draco’s smile. That small quirk he always did with his lips whenever Harry said or did something which Draco thought was either very stupid or very amusing. He thought about Draco’s eyes and how they had lost that icy and dangerous gleam that always seemed to follow him, when they were at Hogwarts. Lately that icy gleam had changed into something much warmer and deeper. Something you could drown happily in. 

He thought about Draco’s laugh and his voice; a touch deeper than anyone else’s, but so full of passion and… knowledge. He thought about Draco’s face. His body. How extremely handsome Draco was, and how Harry hadn’t noticed that before, but now couldn’t seem to get the vision out of his head. 

He thought about love. 

He had loved Ginny – that much was true. But loving Ginny was not the same as loving Draco. Loving Ginny wasn’t terrifying and all-consuming. It wasn’t a burning fire, creeping through your body and heart, threatening to utterly destroy you. Loving Ginny wasn’t eternal. 

Harry thought that loving Draco just might be that. Eternal. 

Did it really matter, then, whether people knew? If it was something that made Harry happy, then it couldn’t be bad, could it?

If only he hadn’t blown it. 

“I fucked up, Hermione,” Harry whispered. “And I think it might be too late to fix it.” 

Hermione sat up straight, her manner once again brisk and decisive. “If there’s one thing, I’ve always admired about you, Harry, it’s your determination to _never give up_. Let me just say this; if you let this one go, I will never forgive you.” 

Harry chewed his lip, his head bowed. “You’re right,” he said. “You’re absolutely right. I have to sort this out right away!” 

He stood up. “Sorry, Hermione, but I have to go. Tell Molly I’m sorry, all right? I’ll make it up to her.” 

Hermione smiled and hugged him tight. Then she went to the fireplace and threw in a handful of Floo Powder. She stepped inside the green flames and waved at Harry. “Good luck,” she said. Then she was gone in a flash. 

Harry took a deep breath. Then he stormed to the door and threw it open, half-running to number 11. 

The lights were out inside the house. 

Harry felt disappointment wash over him as he hammered on the door, praying for Draco to open.  
He wasn’t there. 

With a frustrated yell, Harry kicked the door, then sunk down to sit on the front stairs, fighting back tears. 

_"Fuck,"_ , he muttered. 

He took a deep breath and looked out over the bright-green front lawn. There was nothing else to do but wait. First things tomorrow, he would go and find Draco at Madam Malkin’s and beg him to listen and to understand that Harry hadn’t meant what he said. 

_He has to understand_ , Harry thought. _He has to understand that I’m scared. That I’m scared of feeling like this, and that I’m afraid of what all this means. From as today, everything has changed. But not how I feel about him. It’s what I feel about the_ world _knowing about me and Draco, and I guess that makes me a bit of a coward._

Sighing, Harry finally stood up and walked slowly back to his house; dreading and wishing for tomorrow to arrive.

*

Early next morning, Harry got up and showered, then forced down some breakfast and made his way to Diagon Alley.

He had kept his distance from the wizarding street as much as possible ever since the incident with the paparazzi-photographer. He was fully aware that The Daily Prophet, along with other wizarding magazines and newspapers, were dying to get a statement from Harry about his relationship with Draco. The many rumours about them had never been either denied or confirmed. 

As Harry neared the shop, he noticed a small group of people walking close behind him, whispering something which Harry couldn’t hear. _I should have brought my invisibly cloak, Harry thought, desperately._

He was almost at the door, when someone called out from behind him.  
“Hey, Potter! Are you going to visit your boyfriend? Malfoy works in there, doesn’t he?” 

Harry spun around and glared at the group of people. They didn’t look like journalists, but they all had an eager look about them, as if they would be ready to force Harry into a small corner until they could summon someone from The Prophet. 

“No, I’m not. And it’s really none of your business,” Harry sneered. He opened the door and walked inside. 

Madam Malkin looked up from her place behind the counter and smiled warmly at Harry. 

“Oh hello, Mr. Potter, what an honour to have you. What can I do for you today?”

Harry looked nervously at the gathering crowd outside the shop window. Then he turned his attention back to Madam Malkin. “Er, is Draco here? I need to speak to him.” 

Madam Malkin gave him a small, knowing smile, which made Harry believe that Draco might have talked to her about him. He blushed, but didn’t look away. 

“Draco is currently out back getting some new fabrics we just got in today”, she said. “Why don’t you wait in here - it will only be a short while.” 

Harry thanked her and went to sit on the same chair he’d been sitting in, when he went to talk to Draco back in October. 

He looked around the room. It looked a lot neater than when Madam Malkin used to run the shop by herself.

“Draco is very fond of organising things,” Madam Malkin said, scribbling notes into a large leather book. “I couldn’t have managed without him these last couple of months. His sense of detail is quite extraordinary. He sees things that I do not, although I’ve owned this shop for nearly forty years.” 

She looked at Harry over the rim of her glasses. “He wasn’t doing well when he first started working for me. But something seemed to change last autumn. He got a certain… glow about him. I think I remember him telling me that the two of you started to see a lot of each other around then, isn’t that true?” 

Harry smiled and looked down at his hands. “Yes, that’s true. We found out that we’re neighbours, actually.” 

“Oh, right. Lovely,” Madam Malkin said, smiling. Then she turned back to her book. 

Neither of them spoke for a while. Outside, the noise was getting louder. 

“He talks about you a lot, you know?” Madam Malkin said suddenly. 

Harry’s head snapped up. 

“Oh. Er, is that so?” 

“Oh yes. He’s very fond of you, Harry. Your friendship means a lot to him.” 

Harry felt his heart constrict at Madam Malkin’s words. _Please, hurry, Draco. I need to see you._

“I…” But Harry never got the opportunity to reply. In that moment, the door to the shop flew open, and at least a dozen people stumbled inside, cameras and quills at the ready. 

“- Harry, Harry – look over here!”

“- Harry, why are you sitting inside Madam Malkin’s? Are you waiting for someone?” 

“- Harry, is it true you and Malfoy are going to adopt a child together?

“- Harry, how much do you want for an exclusive interview?

“- Harry, are you and young Malfoy really an item?” 

Harry’s heart raced with rage and humiliation as he glared at the crowd, now taking up most of Madam Malkin’s. Outside, more people were clustering together, trying to get a look at what was happening inside. 

From inside the crowd, a fat man was squeezing his way to Harry, a notebook open in his hand, a quill in the other. 

“Hello Mr. Potter – very nice to see you again.” The man smiled, and Harry suddenly recognized him as the journalist who had taken the photo of him and Draco back around Christmas. 

Fury boiled inside Harry as he looked at the man, who was now starting to raise his camera. 

Harry lost it. 

“GET OUT! – _GET OUT_ ” Harry shouted, drawing his wand and feeling a small ringing to his ears, as his temper kept rising.

Madam Malkin had moved to stand beside Harry. She crossed her arms and put on a menacing glower, making at least a few of the journalist take a step back.  
“Now, _really!_ ”, she said. “Please, leave my property at once. I have never experienced such poor behaviour in my life. Leave this young man alone, I tell you!” 

A couple of the journalist threw apologetic smiles, but didn’t back away. The fat journalist in front leaned forward and whispered for everyone to hear:

“Potter. Listen to me. We can make all of this go away very, very easily. All you must do is to let us know, once and for all, if you are indeed in a relationship with Mr. Malfoy. That’s all we want. Just a simple confession.” 

The excited mutter from the many journalist came to a hold. An expectant silence filled the air instead. 

Harry looked around at the strange faces, tying to comprehend why this was so bloody important to them. Why couldn’t they just leave him alone? He was The Saviour, for Merlin’s sake! He was supposed to be treated with respect and… honour. All he wanted was for them to _leave_. To let him alone long enough to figure things out with Draco without their interference. He felt like he couldn’t think clearly in their presence. 

“Look,” he sighed, rubbing his brows. “I can tell you there’s absolutely _nothing_ going on between myself and Malfoy. We’re very good friends, that’s all. You have all been mistaken, and I really cannot explain why you would come to any such conclusions that we would be romantically involved. Now, please, leave me alone.” 

There was another moment of silence. Then the room exploded with chatter. 

The fat journalist from the Prophet winked at Harry and closed his notebook. 

“See? That wasn’t that hard, now was it? Thank you very much, Mr. Potter. I’m sure our female readers will be happy to hear about this. The male ones too, I suppose. ‘Potter Is Single’. What a headline!” 

Then he turned around and walked out of the shop followed by the other journalists, leaving Harry feeling both flushed and angry; a flustered-looking Madam Malkin at his side. 

“I’m so sorry about all this,” Harry started, turning to look at Madam Malkin. “You didn’t need to be dragged into this, I’m sure they’ll- “ 

But he didn’t get to finish his apology. As turned to look at Madam Malkin, he spotted a blond figure out of the corner of his eyes. 

Draco was standing near the stairs case his face pale and stiff. 

Harry felt a rush of horror, as his eyes met Draco. What he saw reflected in them was nothing less than utter betrayal. 

“Draco…” he managed, taking a hesitant step closer to the other man. 

Draco flinched and hugged the pile of fabrics he was holding closer to his chest. 

“Draco, Harry said again. “Please, I didn’t mean – I just wanted them to leave!” 

Draco clenched his jaw, his eyes turning icy grey. 

“Don’t start. Just… don’t. Like you said, there's obviously _nothing_ going on between us.” Then Draco turned around and left the same way he had come. 

Harry just stood there for a minute, gasping for breath, his eyes clouded with tears. 

With a jolt, he felt someone patting his arms, and turned his head to see Madam Malkin giving him a sad smile. 

"Dear boy, I believe you have some explanation to do,” she said.

Then she walked over to her book and resumed writing, leaving a horror-struck Harry standing by the door, the crowd of people still chattering excitedly outside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy, not the best way of leaving things, eh? (I'm so sorry!)
> 
> Don't worry - everything might still work out for our favourite boys. As they say, it has to be bad before it can get good... or, maybe that's just something we say in Scandinavia ;-)
> 
> Anyways, thanks again so, so much for kudos, comments and for reading my story. Next chapter will be the last, and then there will be a short epilogue. So the end is near (it has to, as I will be too busy this autumn) for Keep Your Neighbours Close, which I'm actually pretty proud of. 
> 
> I started writing a fic many years ago, which I never finished. Thinking back on it now, I sometime cringe. It was just not very good, and my English was definitely not that advanced. 
> 
> This had been my chance to redeem myself, and to make a tribute to the Slash-pairing I will forever love - Drarry.
> 
> Until next time!


	11. Eternal

Harry went to Draco’s house every morning and every night during the next week. He got up early so that he might be able to get a hold on Draco before he left for work, and then again in the evening, when he knew Draco had finished his shift. 

However, Draco somehow managed to sneak by Harry every time. Harry had no idea how he was doing it, but number 11 always seemed completely deserted when Harry got there, although he could see light from the windows from inside his own house. 

It seemed Draco was doing everything in his power to keep Harry out of his life. 

Well, Harry thought. He did have every reason to. 

If things couldn’t get any worse, Tuesday’s copy of The Daily Prophet definitely hadn’t helped. Harry had only reluctantly read it, when a very sheepish Hermione came by with it a few days ago, and he had been cringing ever since. 

It hadn’t been nice. Harry could still make out the headline, which had covered the front page of that stupid Wizarding magazine for two whole days, apparently selling out faster than any copy since the day after The Battle of Hogwarts. With a grimace, he pushed the paper aside. Tt flipped over and landed on page one:

 

_**Harry Potter Is Single - Denies Every Rumour of Gay Romance** _

_The Daily Prophet is happy to report that young Harry Potter has exclusively denied every rumour regarding his so-called relationship with Draco Malfoy._

_Our reporter cornered Potter yesterday morning, when he was supposedly waiting for a fitting at Madam Malkin’s Robes for All Occasions in Diagon Alley._

_Potter seemed at first agitated when confronted with the many speculations about Malfoy, but agreed to give a short statement where he told The Daily Prophet that there is [quote], “…absolutely nothing going on between myself and Malfoy. We’re very good friends, that’s all. You have all been mistaken, and I really cannot explain why you would come to any such conclusions that we would be romantically involved. Now, please leave me alone.”_

_While many young witches might be happy to know that there is still at chance to capture the affection of Harry Potter, not everyone has been happy about the news._

_Narcissa Malfoy, who has eagerly been providing The Daily Prophet with information regarding her son’s close affiliation with Potter, slammed the door the face of one of our correspondents, when said person visited the Manor to get a comment._

_Narcissa Malfoy was shunned from most of the Wizarding community, when her husband, Lucius Malfoy, was sent to Azkaban for serving He, Who Must Not Be Named during the War. No doubt, a passionate romance between her only son and ‘The Saviour’ would be more than beneficial for the Malfoy-family’s redemption and way back into society._

_Now, however, Mrs. Malfoy must watch the opportunity crumble between her hands, as it is now very clear that Potter is not romantically linked to Malfoy after all._

_For any more information about Harry Potter’s current whereabouts, please go to page 7, column 2._

 

Harry grabbed the paper and threw it into the fireplace. He did not need to read that garbage a third time, and he especially did not need to be reminded that Narcissa had been corresponding with The Daily Prophet, feeding them with stories about her son. “ _Bitch!_ ” Harry muttered to himself as he watched the paper crumble and blacken in the flames. 

Sighing heavily, we wandered over to the kitchen window, once again hoping to see a glimpse of blond hair out on the front lawn. 

He didn’t see Draco. However, someone else was sitting outside Draco’s house, obviously trying to do the exact same thing Harry had been doing for days; stalking Draco. 

Frowning, Harry walked out of his front door, and walked around the corner. Peering over the fence of number 11, he saw that it was a thin boy, not much older than himself. Nott. 

Nott was sitting on the front steps, cradling a massive bouquet of flowers. Harry felt anger rising inside him, as he opened the gate and strode to where Nott was sitting. Nott, the biggest-git-in-the-universe, looked up at the sound of Harry’s footsteps, his face paling slightly under his mousey-coloured fringe. 

“Oh… Hello, Potter,” Nott said, a hint of weariness to his voice. “What, er… what are you doing here?” 

Harry crossed his arms, staring down at Nott. “I could ask you the same thing, _Theo_. What are you up to this time?” 

Nott scratched his head. “Well, I guess I’m taking the opportunity to get Draco back, now that you’re obviously not interested. Thanks for that, by the way!” He gave Harry a small wink which made Harry’s blood boil. 

“You think flowers are going to win Draco over?” Harry said scathingly. “You definitely don’t know him as well as I do, then. Draco doesn’t _do_ flowers. Besides, you never actually _had_ him in the first place, did you? He told me, you know.” 

Nott got up from the stairs and brushed the back of his trousers. He still had the flowers tucked under one arm. He took a step closer to Harry, a sneer on his face. 

“Don’t believe everything Draco tells you, Potter. I know he believes he had this… thing for you back in school, but come on. As if anyone knows what _love_ is at that age.” 

Harry suddenly remembered something. “So _that's_ what you have on Draco? He told you, he was in love with me, when we were at Hogwarts, didn’t he?” 

Nott rolled his eyes. “Yes, yes I suppose that’s what he _thought_ he felt. If you really must know, Draco and I both knew we fancied blokes when we were quite young. Draco apparently got a crush on _you_ from the very start, but it took me a about a year longer to realise that girls were of no interest to me. As Draco might have told you, it’s very inconvenient to be gay when you’re pureblood and supposed to insure the continuation of the family-blood. So, as you may understand, we couldn’t tell anybody but each other.” 

Nott sighed, pretending to look very bored with their conversation, but as far as Harry could tell, Nott secretly enjoyed hearing himself talk more than he minded spilling his secrets.

“How did you find out,” Harry asked, intrigued by this sudden key to knowledge about Draco’s secret crush. 

“It wasn’t really that difficult. I noticed him checking you out at the Yule Ball in our fourth year. He took Pansy to the dance, but I was the first to notice how indifferent he treated her the entire time. I put two and two together and confronted him. That’s when we thought we could probably… help each other out. We made it quite a challenge finding hidden places in the dungeons to… you know.” 

Harry made a repulsive sound which made Nott smirk. “Come off it, Potter. I don’t know what it was like in Gryffindor, but we Slytherins are always looking for an opportunity to get good shag. Always.” 

Harry turned his head away from Nott, trying to hide his burning cheeks. The thought of Draco with Nott was making Harry’s insides blaze bright hot with jealousy. 

“Merlin, you’re all such prudes,” Nott drawled, obviously mistaking Harry’s flush for embarrassment. “Just because _you're_ a virgin, doesn’t mean everyone has to be.” 

Harry’s head snapped back to Nott. “You don’t know, what you’re talking about,” he spat. 

Nott grinned. Then his eyes widened, and his mouth turned into a small ‘o’. 

“You slept with him,” Nott said incredulously. “I fucking knew it! When I saw the two of you together in that pub, I knew something was going on. Did he seduce you? Did you seduce him? You probably did, didn’t you, Potter? Draco’s amazingly hot, so I can’t really blame you. So what happened since you’re publicly denying that you’re together? Did he cheat on you? I know I would, - I-“

“Shut UP!” Harry’s yell echoed through the empty street, and for a moment the two of them just glared murderously at each other, Nott breaking a few of the flowers with the clench of his fist. 

“There’s absolutely no way, I’m telling you anything about Draco and me. It’s none of your bloody business,” Harry said, forcing his voice to stay low. He didn't want to stir the neighbours. 

“But, you’re not together right now.” It wasn’t a question. Nott smiled sweetly at Harry. Then he took a few steps down to the front lawn. “I think I’ll come back later. As I see it, Draco’s completely fair game.” He walked to the gate and turned around to look at Harry. “Such a shame, Potter. You don’t even know what you’re giving up.” 

Nott was halfway through the gate, getting ready to Disapperate, when Harry spoke. 

“I haven’t given up. I’ll _never_ give up. And I won’t let you anywhere _near_ him. Just you mind that, Nott.” 

Nott tilted his head to the side and pursed his lips, looking at Harry. Then he smiled. 

“If only the Prophet knew,” he said. Then there was a small ‘pop’, and Nott was gone.

*

Another week went by, and there was still no trace of Draco. Harry felt as if he was living in a constant state of mixed fear and heartache. This was the worst he had ever felt in his life, even counting the days when Voldemort had been at large. Harry secretly thought he would have been able to face at least six more Voldemorts, if only he had Draco by his side.

If one good thing had come out of this horrible ordeal, it was the fact that Harry no longer had any doubts whatsoever about his feelings towards Draco. He knew that he… well. _Those_ words. He had thought _Those_ words over and over in his head when he lay in bed, conjuring up images of Draco and remembering every small detail of his face. 

He had tried saying them out loud to his room, imagining that he was actually saying them to Draco. But _Those_ words sounded hollow without Draco in the room. Would Draco believe Harry, if Harry ever got the chance to tell him? He wasn’t sure. Not after… everything. Right now, it seemed foolish to think he would ever see Draco again, let alone tell him that he… well. _Those words._

Harry stared at the ceiling. 

It looked like it would be another sleepless night.

*

Next morning, Harry was once again standing outside Draco’s fence, when the miracle finally happened; Draco was walking out of his door, heading for work.

Harry’s famished heart did a lurch as he watched Draco slouch towards the gate, his eyes at the ground and looking worse than Harry had seen him in a long time. Guilt and affection rushed through Harry, and he took a step towards Draco, who finally looked up; caught a sight of Harry and stopped dead in his tracks. 

For a moment, they stood there, looking at each other. Draco’s eyes were wide. He seemed to be breathing fast, looking more like a trapped animal than someone who had told Harry he was in love with him. The sight made Harry feel even more horrible. 

“Draco…” Harry took another hesitant step closer to the blond, harassed-looking man in front of him. “Draco, please, I need to talk to you.” 

Draco didn’t speak. He simply stood there, watching Harry, a blank expression on his face. 

Harry suddenly felt extremely frustrated. All he wanted to do was to grab Draco and shake him until he _had_ to listen to Harry’s apology. However, there was a dangerous glint in Draco’s eyes that told Harry not to rush things. Instead, he searched Draco’s face, trying to work up the courage to say what he needed to say. 

“Draco,” he finally croaked. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” 

Something flickered in Draco’s eyes. His head snapped up, and he glared at Harry, his eyes burning with rage. “Great. Because that’s really helpful, Potter. Saying you’re _sorry_? Fuck off, will you?” He strode past Harry and pushed the gate to open it, but Harry snatched out a hand and caught Draco’s wrist. 

“Please, Draco, you need to _listen_! I didn’t mean… I didn’t know what I was – “ 

“I don’t need to listen to a bloody thing!” Draco hissed and shook his wrist out of Harry’s grip. “You already told the fucking _Daily Prophet_ what you feel, so now I’ve been so fortunate to get it in writing as well!” Draco had looked completely livid only seconds ago, but now his anger slowly seemed to leave him. Instead he looked miserable. Lost. When he spoke again, his voice was soft, but it still sent a chill through Harry’s spine.

“Did you know that I’ve received about a hundred owls these past days, with letters from witches gloating about how you’re not some ‘common poofter that I can seduce and charm with my dark magic?’”, he said. “They think I made it all up. They think _I_ created the rumour about us along with my mother to make myself look good. How do you think that makes me feel? I told you… everything. I handed you my _fucking_ heart on a silver platter. And what did you do with it? You fucking stamped on it.” 

And with those words Draco opened the gate and Disapperated, leaving Harry standing alone at the gate, his hand still outstretched, reaching for something that no longer wasn’t there.

*

Harry wasn’t sure how he managed to find his way back to his house. His ears were ringing, and his eyes were clouded with tears, unable to focus on anything in front of him. His head was thumping painfully, each thud reminding him of Draco’s words.

_“You stamped on it”._

Gasping, Harry stumbled towards the fireplace, grabbed a handful of Floo Powder, mumbled ‘The Burrow’ and found himself climbing into the Weasley living room a few seconds later. 

“Ron!” he called, not caring that he had barged in completely unannounced. 

He could hear running feet coming from the stairs, and Ron’s freckly face appeared around the corner at the same time as Mrs. Weasley poked her head out from the kitchen, her eyes widening as she took in Harry’s dishevelled and tear-streaked face. 

“Oh, _Harry!_ What on earth happened to you?” Mrs. Weasley strode towards Harry and put her arms around him, holding him tight against her chest. 

Harry remembered being held like that once before by Mrs. Weasley; the closest thing he ever got to a mother, the night when he had just watched Cedric being killed. It had the same effect as then, and so he sobbed into her shoulder, aware that Ron was watching them both hesitantly from a few feet away.

Finally, the tears started to ebb, and Harry was slowly able to compose himself. He gently let go of Mrs. Weasley and ran a shaky hand through his hair, letting out a deep sigh. 

Mrs. Weasley was looking at him, concern written all over her face. She pulled out a chair and made Harry sit down. “I’ll fetch you some tea, dear,” she said, and dissapeared into the kitchen. Harry leaned forwards in his chair and covered his face with his hands. When he looked up, Ron was sitting in the chair opposite him, looking extremely worried. 

“I fire-called Hermione,” Ron said. “She’s on her way. What… what’s going on, Harry?” 

Harry closed his eyes, willing himself not to start crying again. God, he was messed up. He looked at Ron, every part of his body yearning to tell him about what had happened. He needed Ron more than ever. Even if it meant admitting that… that he was… 

Harry was about to open his mouth, when Mrs. Weasley came bustling back into the living room carrying a tray with two large mugs of tea. “There you are, dear, tea always makes things look a bit brighter. Now, I’ll leave you two to chat. The rest of the family is visiting George at work, so they won’t be back in a few hours.” She brushed her hand over Harry’s cheek and went outside the garden. 

Harry took the mug and blew on the hot tea, feeling his heart slowly starting to settling back to its normal rhythm. He looked at Ron. He was still staring at Harry, unnerved. 

“I read that article in The Daily Prophet,” Ron began. “It said, there’s nothing going on between you and Malfoy… but I suppose that’s not completely true, is it Harry?” 

Harry lowered his mug. He stared at Ron. 

Ron shrugged and took his own mug from the tray. “I’m not as blind to these things as you might think, Harry. Hermione just act on her suspicions. She needs to be right about things. Thought I’d let you work it out by yourself, though. So, is it true? Are you… in love with Malfoy?” 

Harry looked into Ron’s familiar face and let out another shaky breath. 

_This was is_. 

“Yes. Yes, I am, Ron.” 

Ron let out a small whistle and leaned back in his chair.

“Wow.” 

“I know,” Harry said. 

“ _Malfoy?_ ” 

“I know.” Harry actually managed a smile this time. 

“Well, he’s a bit of a git, but he _is_ very good a cooking,” Ron said, as if it settled things. No wonder you ended things with Ginny, though,” he said. “I mean, if you’re gay and all.” 

“Yeah, Harry said, smiling. I guess that’s true.” 

“Charlie’s gay too, you know,” Ron mused. 

Harry choked on his tea. “ _What?_ Charlie? I had no idea!” 

“Well, he is,” Ron said banging Harry on the back to help with his coughing fit. “He came out to the whole family last year. It wasn’t a huge deal, though. There’re seven – sorry, no six of us, so it wasn’t really a surprise that one of us would be playing the other field, was it.” 

Harry felt his heart sink at the casual reminder of Fred, but he gave Ron a small smile nonetheless. 

“I guess so. Does he… have a boyfriend, then?” 

“Yes, I think so,” Ron said. “But we haven’t met him. I think he’s Swedish, or something. At least he isn’t French, or mum would have a fit. She thinks we already have too many French relatives as it is.” 

Harry grinned. “Come off it, your mum loves Fleur’s family.” 

Ron grinned too. “Yeah, that’s true. She just doesn’t like to admit it.” 

Harry leaned back in his chair, feeling a surge of relief and gratitude wash over him.  
Ron didn’t mind that he was gay, and the rest of the Weasleys wouldn’t either. Ron didn’t even mind about _Draco_. It could be all right. It would be all right to tell people. Especially those who mattered. 

“So, tell me what happened with you and… _Draco_ ,” Ron said, pulling a face, but still smiling at Harry. “I’d like to know.” 

_Here we go_ , thought Harry, and then started to talk.

*

Harry was halfway into his explanation about him being a massive arse to Draco, when Hermione finally joined them, and he had to start all over. He told them about Nott too.

He was happy to see Ron scowl at the mention of Nott trying to worm his way back into Draco’s good grace, and Hermione patted his arm and told him that everything would be all right, and that she and Ron would personally help Harry find Draco and apologise, even if it meant tying Draco up and gag him, so that Harry would be able to tell him about his feelings. 

Feeling considerable better, Harry drank another mug of tea (which Ron spiked with Ogden’s Old Firewhisky), and agreed to stay for lunch.

Mrs. Weasley didn’t ask what they had talked about, as she set the table with plates and cups. But she kept giving Harry small stares which told him she was beyond than curious. He was grateful she didn’t push the subject, though. 

 

Harry ended up having a very enjoyable afternoon with the Weasleys and Hermione. Arthur, George and Ginny joined them for tea later in the afternoon, and Harry felt relaxed and thoroughly loved, when he finally returned home. 

He paced around his kitchen for a few minutes, willing himself to be distracted by thoughts that _didn't_ have anything to do with Draco, and decided to go to the shops. 

He grabbed a bag and his keys, and then crossed his lawn and was almost at the gate, when he heard loud voices coming from Draco’s house. 

His heart beating fast, he ran out on the street and stopped in front of Draco’s gate. What he saw made him freeze on the spot. 

Draco was standing in the middle of the front lawn surrounded by furniture, pillows, sheets and various ornaments. Narcissa was standing just inside the entrance to the house, levitating Draco’s belongings out on the lawn, one by one. 

“Mother, please, stop!” Draco was pleading with his mother. He sounded angry but defeated. His face looked pale, and he backed away hurriedly as his dinner table crashed down in front of him, followed by four chairs.

“You are not worthy of this house, Draco,” Narcissa sneered. “Just when Lucius and I thought you couldn’t possibly disappoint us any further, we have to learn that you lied to us about your relationship with Harry Potter. Tell me Draco, why on earth should we allow you live in the house of Blacks and Malfoys, when you yourself have _besmirched_ our name!?” Looking rather mad, Narcissa levitated yet another table through the door and put in down so forcefully, it broke one of its legs. 

“You can’t do that, mother, it’s MY house!” Draco was trying to levitate the table back into the house, but it crashed against a flying painting and broke completely.

 _The muggles are going to hear this,_ Harry thought distractedly. He wanted to go and help Draco, but at that same moment, two men and three women popped up beside him, carrying cameras. _Fucking reporters!_ Harry thought, glaring at them. 

One of the reporters; a small, elderly witch, noticed Harry and gave him a toothy smile. “Blimey! It’s Mr. Potter. How interesting to see you here of all places? Tell me, are you here to watch the fall of poor Draco Malfoy too? Did you know he stole this house from his own parents? Such a naughty boy, huh?” 

Harry only glared at her some more. One of the other reporters, a tall brown-haired wizard, had started to put up protective shields around the house and lawn. 

“Can’t have the Muggles witnessing this, or the ministry will interfere,” he said. “Wouldn’t miss out on this story for the world! Give us a hand, will you? Merlin, I hope we’re the only ones who know about this.” Just as he spoke, about 10 more reporters appeared with a huge crack. 

The elderly witch had run to help the tall wizard, and Harry used the distraction to slip through the gate and into the lawn before the newly arrived reporters noticed him too. 

Draco had retracted to a corner of the lawn, ducking as a massive mirror strode past his head and landed a few feet away from him. “Mother, this is madness! _STOP!_ ” 

Narcissa, however, just kept emptying the house with rapid speed, looking madder than ever. “This is certainly NOT your house, Draco! You may have been under the illusion that you managed to steal it without my knowledge, but you should know that I know _perfectly_ well who helped you fake those signatures, and the man in question has insured me they are invalid. If you are indeed so determined to live your own life away from everything we, your parents, taught you, I suggest you start doing it now and look for another house, because you certainly will _not_ be using this one any longer.” 

Harry felt his heart break as he glanced from Narcissa’s flushed and determined face to Draco’s crestfallen expression. He looked like he had lost all hope. The sight made Harry sick with compassion.

“Mr. Malfoy, it appears your own mother is making you homeless once again. What are your feelings about this turn of events?” 

Draco spun round, his face looking, if possibly, even paler. The tall brown-haired wizard was peaking over the gate, a bunch of other reporters standing beside him, looking excited. 

“Where will you go now, Malfoy? Are you going into hiding as many of your old school-mates? I hear Zabini escaped to Portugal after the trials.” The elderly witch had stuck her face through the bars of the gate. “And Mrs. Parkinson now lives in a yurt somewhere in the Southern regions. Perhaps you are going to join her?” She was scribbling furiously on a piece of parchment, her eyes fixed on Draco. 

“ _No, he's not!_ ” Harry stepped out from his place in the shadows. He glared angrily at the elderly witch. Then he turned his head to Draco. 

Draco looked completely taken aback at the sight of Harry. He was staring at him in bewilderment, his arms hanging loosely by his side. 

Narcissa stopped levitating furniture. She was breathing heavily, running a hand through her long, blond hair. “What is this?” she said. “Have you to come to gloat, Mr. Potter?” 

“No,” Harry said. “I’ve come to take Draco home.”  
Everyone seemed to freeze at Harry’s words. Silence fell over the scene, only broken by the sound of a plate sliding off the shelf of Draco’s china cabinet and crashing to the ground. 

Everyone was staring at Harry. Draco eyebrows were raised to high, they had almost disappeared. He stared at Harry, apparently lost for words. 

“Home?” Narcissa said scathingly. “I’m afraid that is impossible. As you might see, I have decided to take back my family’s house.” 

Harry rolled his eyes. “I don’t mean _this_ house.” He looked into Draco’s pale face, trying to convey as much as possible with his eyes. “I mean _mine_.” 

Harry vaguely registered the reporters gaping at each other. 

“But… Mr. Potter. You recently stated that – “ 

“I’m very much aware what I said,” Harry spat at the reporter who had spoken. “It… it wasn’t true.” 

He looked at Draco again. “The thing is… well, the thing is… I’ve never been so wrong in my entire life.”

He crossed the lawn to stand right in front of Draco. 

“I know, you probably won’t forgive me, but you need to know that I was _scared_. I wasn’t ready to admit to the entire wizarding world that I… like men. I was afraid it would change everything.” He reached out a hand and cupped Draco’s cheek. “I’m not as brave as people make me out to be. I didn’t want everyone to know how I felt about you. I wasn’t sure how people would react, and that freaked me out. But you know what? I just hadn’t realised that everything bloody _has_ changed. And I wouldn’t want it any other way. That’s all that matters. You and me. Not _them_ ,” he said, gesturing at the reporters. “Not what _they_ think.” He stroked Draco’s cheek with his thump, looking into Draco’s amazingly grey eyes. 

“The _last_ thing I wanted, was to hurt you, Draco. When I said… those horrible things at Madam Malkin’s, I didn’t think. I just wanted them to go away, and I fucked up. I don’t want to lose you.  
Please, tell me I haven’t. Lost you, that is?” 

Harry stared fixedly at Draco, holding his breath. 

“I thought _I_ was the one giving speeches around here,” Draco said quietly. Harry let out a shaky breath, his entire body seemed to relax as he heard the affectionate taunt hidden in Draco’s voice. 

“I guess it was my turn,” Harry said. He didn’t take his eyes off Draco. 

“Look, what the bloody hell is going on here?” a familiar voice rung from behind them. Harry finally tore his eyes from Draco and looked over his shoulder. The fat reporter from The Daily Prophet had joined his colleagues outside the gate. He was glaring impatiently at Harry. “You’re making things very, very difficult for an honest reporter like me, young man. Tell us, are you with Malfoy, or not?” 

Harry rolled his eyes. “Not that it’s any of your business, but yes. I’m with Draco. That is… if he wants me.” He gave Draco a nervous smile. 

“What did you mean by ‘taking me home’?” Draco asked, his head tilted slightly to the side. 

“Well, you need a house, don’t you? And I have one. It’s big enough for two, as you may recall.” 

Draco pulled a face at Harry. “Potter, if that’s your way of asking me to move in with you, it’s not very romantic.” 

“I know, I’m sorry, I’m a disaster,” Harry said sheepishly. He considered Draco’s face. “So…? Will you?” 

Everyone seemed to be holding their breaths. The many reporters were leaning over the fence, their necks stretched in order to hear Draco’s answer. 

“Yes,” said Draco, trying to keep a straight face, but failing miserably. Instead he grinned openly at Harry. “Yes, I suppose I will.” 

They beamed at each other, as the crowd began to clap. The elderly reporter-witch even wolf-whistled, making everyone laugh. 

Harry grabbed Draco’s hand and let him through the gate past the reporters. 

Narcissa was still standing on the front steps of number 11, looking completely dumbfounded. “DRACO!” she cried. “Come back this instant! You can have your house back! Please, I - “

“Go fuck yourself, _mother!_ ” Draco yelled over his shoulder. They were still holding hands as Narcissa spluttered something behind them. Draco sent Harry a brilliant smile which made Harry feel giddy all the way to down his toes. 

_I love you_ , Harry thought, a warm, content feeling settling over him.

They were both aware that all the reporters had turned to them and were taking photos. Neither of them cared, though. At this moment, they only had eyes for each other. 

“You know, they’re going to know where you live now,” Draco said in a quiet voice, as they walked through the gate of number 12, Grimmauld Place 

“Where _we_ live,” Harry interjected.

"And I don't care. From now on, they can write as many stories about us as they want, as long as they're nice and fluffy."

*

They stepped inside the house and walked into the kitchen where Harry made them tea and arranged a plate of biscuits. Draco leaned against the doorframe, watching Harry.

“So…” he said. “This is real?” 

Harry put down the kettle and looked at Draco. He smiled. 

“This is real.” 

“What made you change your mind?” Draco said. 

“You,” Harry said simply. 

“Was it my excellent sex-skills, then?” Draco’s voice was casual, but Harry could still sense a trace of doubt in his voice. 

Harry walked over and took Draco’s hand, entwining their fingers.  
“No. It’s not just sex.” He leaned forward and kissed Draco softly on the lips. Draco responded immediately. He wrapped his arms tightly around Harry’s neck and kissed him back passionately. Harry turned them both gently and nudged Draco against the kitchen counter. They stood there, kissing heatedly, for what seemed like hours. When they finally broke apart, Harry rested his forehead against Draco’s, breathing heavily and feeling extremely, ridiculously happy. 

“Nott came to see me,” Draco said suddenly. 

Harry froze. He lifted his head and looked at Draco, licking his lips. 

“What… did he want?” 

“He brought me flowers.”

“Oh.” Harry didn’t speak. All happiness seemed to be draining out of him, but he clung on to Draco nonetheless, dreading what was coming next. Finally, he cleared his throat and spoke. “Er, what did you, er… do with them?” 

“I set the bouquet on fire and hit him with the bat-bogey hex,” Draco said casually. “Your Ex would have been proud. “Honestly, Harry. You know, I’ve loved you forever, what did you think was going to happen?”

“I don’t know,” Harry admitted. “I trust you. I just don’t trust _him_.” 

“I can look after myself, Harry,” Draco said softly. “But if it will make you feel better, I told him to bugger off and never contact me again. With those bats, all over his face, I think this time he might have gotten the point.” 

Harry let out a snort of laughter and relief. Then he took Draco’s face between his hands. “That’s all I wanted to know.”

Then he kissed Draco again until their lips were red and raw.

*

“So, what is… this?” Draco asked again later that evening, when they were lying on Harry’s couch – no, _their_ couch – Draco stroking Harry’s hair and Harry tracing patterns over Draco’s naked chest.

“You and me, I mean. If it’s not just sex and hormones?” 

Harry hesitated. Then he turned his head a fraction, smiling down at Draco’s face. 

“Eternal,” Harry said, and kissed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. Here it is - the final conclusion, and of course, a happy ending. 
> 
> It has been such a fun ride, writing this. I'm so grateful for all of you, who read this story. I had no real expectations about anything, as I wanted to write this for myself first of all, but I'm so happy many of you seemed to enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. I hope you like this final chapter too. As aways, please leave me a comment if you'd like to share your thoughts about it.
> 
>  
> 
> Once again, thank you, thank you, thank you!


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